


the miseducation of hermione granger

by MaidenMotherCrone



Series: HEX [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - SKAM Fusion, Black Hermione Granger, Character Study, Chronic Illness, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Islamophobia, Muslim Hermione Granger, POV Hermione Granger, Racist Language, The Golden Trio, Timeline What Timeline, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 66
Words: 80,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenMotherCrone/pseuds/MaidenMotherCrone
Summary: Hermione Granger knows who she is. She is a Gryffindor. She is a Muggleborn. She is Afro-Arab. She is English. She is a Muslimah. She is a good friend. She is smart. She is an activist. She is things that she will never say out loud.Hermione Granger knows who she is. The problem: No one else does.1. Not her friends.2. Not her parents.3. Not even her. Not yet.(this is the unlearning. the miseducation. minute by minute)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Series: HEX [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1471166
Comments: 433
Kudos: 664





	1. SUNDAY, 8:24PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Hermione gets real, real fast.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Black girl magic, y'all can't stand it  
> Y'all can't ban it, made out like a bandit  
> They been trying hard just to make us all vanish  
> I suggest they put a flag on a whole 'nother planet
> 
> Jane Bond, never Jane Doe  
> And I Django, never Sambo  
> Black and white, yeah that's always been my camo  
> It's lookin' like y'all gon' need some more ammo  
> I cut 'em off, I cut 'em off, I cut 'em off like Van Gogh  
> Now, pan right for the angle  
> I got away with murder, no Scandal  
> Cue the violins and the violas"
> 
> -Django Jane, Janelle Monae

So, it’s really loud.

 _Really_ loud.

And Hermione doesn’t usually mind loud all that much—the Ginny Weasley Defence Squad is _loud_ , its namesake is loud, just aforementioned namesake’s brother is loud. Truly, they’re all kind of loud, with the exception of Luna, but Luna’s opinions—that she states as _facts,_ though mind you are, they are, in fact not—are loud enough.

But, this.

This is _loud_.

The Room of Requirement has never been so loud. In Hermione’s mind, it’s still Harry’s happy place. But, now it’s the room for the first party of the end of the year. Hermione doesn’t really mind that she helped Harry execute this. She’d do anything for Harry, and really, she’s always been of a mind that if you want something done right, you probably have to do it yourself.

She knew that Harry was going to regret this later, so she’d made sure that everyone was blindfolded as they hustled people to and from. She’d made a deal with the Death Eaters to have them be on lookout, going on shifts with the rest of the Defence Squad to escort any latecomers. They’d even helped spread the word of a cut-off time.

So, it’s loud.

The music booms and not a single soul outside of the Room of Requirement can hear it.

Hermione kinda wishes she didn’t hear it either.

But, she relaxes into it. She sinks into the bass and lets it rattle her bones, because sometimes, it’s all she’s got left. Just her bones. Hermione pushes the maudlin thought away almost the minute she has it, because she can list at least five things that she has besides her bones

_(_

  1. _My Bones_
  2. _My intellect_
  3. _My friends_
  4. _Baba and mama_
  5. _My marks_
  6. _My magic_



_And sometimes, 7. Allah, but it depends on the day)_

, and she’s always had the mind for lists—she’s supremely organized that way.

Hermione likes parties. It’s the only time when her thoughts aren’t so loud that she’s making lists all of the time, but there’s something different about this one, that makes her incapable of shutting her own mind down. Maybe it’s because she’s the only one that knows all the logistics involved in this particular party. She’s quite incapable of calming her own mind down.

“Hermione... _Hermione_?”

And suddenly, she’s back.

Hermione is back, and she’s missed about half of a conversation, she estimates.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Hermione asks.

“Ginny was arguing the merits of Muggle drugs and Ron was speaking against it. I’d say Luna was playing referee, but I think she’s actually high right now,” Harry says with a wry smile.

Ron scoffs, and turns to Hermione, shifting in their little circle upon the floor, pressed into soft cushions in the corner of the Room of Requirement, adjacent to the makeshift dance floor. Hermione looks away from the gyrating crowd, all sharp-shouldered boys and pretty, soft girls, and back to Defence Squad.

“Back me up here, Hermione. Muggle drugs are unsafe. Who _knows_ what they even put in their bodies?” Ron says, firmly. He looks at her squarely in the eye, like he’s trying to see into her soul, and she wonders when he’s started doing that.

It’s extremely off-putting.

“Why would she back _you_ up?” Ginny barks.

Luna is laying across her lap, counting something that no one else can see. Hermione would say that she’s being herself, but she remembers that exact look on Luna’s face the _last_ time they went to a party. Merlin, she _is_ high.

“Because Hermione has actually lived amongst _them_ , you know—” Ron starts.

Harry snorts. “Merlin, Ron, ‘them’? They aren’t _monsters,_ you know.”

“Well, I know that they aren’t!” Ron protests. “I just think that Hermione’s parents are Muggles and I bet that _they_ wouldn’t approve of drugs.”

And Hermione forgets herself for a moment, just one, because she says, “They’d consider it haram.”

There’s a pause.

They all look at her with varying frowns of misunderstanding.

“Forbidden,” Hermione translates, and she shakes her head, straightening her back as she surveys all of them with her sternest expression. “I would say that you shouldn’t be doing _any_ drugs—Muggle or otherwise—because it’s against the _rules._ ”

“This party is against the rules and you organized it,” Ginny points out.

Hermione sputters because let it not be said that she’s not the world’s largest paradox.

Hypocrite.

Same difference.

“Yes, but this is well-structured fun. And who _knows_ what would happen if you ingested too much marijuana? How do we know where it’s come from?” Hermione asks listlessly, because she’s playing her part of eternal logician. She knows how to play her role quite well because she is a list of roles and a mess of pieces, each fitting perfectly to form the complete puzzle called Hermione Granger.

“Hey, Lu, where did you get the weed?” Ginny asks, murmuring gently in Luna’s ear.

Ron’s ears turn red.

“Neville,” Luna sings.

Ginny looks up, lips pouted in victory. She opens her mouth to argue back, and then, she looks even smugger. She looks up over Hermione’s head and drawls, “Hey, Riddle, have you ever smoked weed?”

Ron snorts. “Can you imagine Riddle—”

“Of course,” Riddle drawls as he gracefully falls into a crouch next to Harry. He leans over, pressing a kiss to the hollow beneath Harry’s ear, and murmurs something for just the two of them. Harry grins at whatever he’s said, looser and freer than he’s been in all of the years that Hermione has known him.

She’d been skeptical, at the beginning of that mess. Harry and Riddle seemed ill-suited for one another. Harry was kind, if a little absent-minded, funny if sometimes callous. He was a good person. Riddle was not. Hermione still doesn’t think Riddle is all that of a good person, but he makes Harry smile and laugh, and Hermione looks at them and wonders what it’s like to be so madly in love. Sometimes, she looks at them and feels sick to her stomach in wonder and want.

Harry starts to stand to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “Tom and I are going to get drinks. Do you want anything?”

Ginny snorts. “Is that _all_ you’ll be doing?”

Riddle raises a single eyebrow. “Come now, Girl-Weasley, what do _you_ think?”

Ginny grins lasciviously, opens her mouth to probably say something obscene.

Ron claps his hands over his ear and resolutely chants, “La la la!”

“Child,” Hermione mutters under her breath. “No, we’re fine. Go on, Harry.”

Harry nods and laces his fingers through Riddle’s, dragging him off. He wiggles his shoulders to the music, grinning up at Riddle and Riddle follows him into the throng of dancers, in the opposite direction from the bar, where Lisa Turpin mans the bar with Zabini.

“Well, they’re off to probably snog or something,” Ron says with a wave of his hand. He falls back onto his hands, seeming like he’s willing to drop the previous conversation, as he turns to look at Hermione. “How are you, Hermione?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Exactly as I was about thirty seconds ago. Perfectly fine, I expect.”

Ron nods sagely, relaxing back onto one hand, turning towards her. Hermione glances at Ginny, but Ginny looks eagerly curious. Hermione purses her lips.

“I didn’t think that they’d be good together. But, I suppose they are, eh?” Ron says. “And Riddle is...well he’s not _alright_.”

“He’s alright for Harry. Amazing _to_ Harry,” Hermione finishes for him.

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess, he’s alright. For a Slytherin. Imagine dating a Slytherin,” Ron groans, shaking his head.

Ginny purses her lips. “ _I’m_ dating a Slytherin. Zabini is my boyfriend.”

“Is that what you call that?”

“ ‘That’?” Ginny demands.

“Mess,” Ron says with a wave of his hand. “He’d say you were his girlfriend?”

“I...well, I expect so,” Ginny mutters.

Ron’s mouth twitches. “You should check in with him, then, shouldn’t you?”

Ginny slowly pushes Luna to the ground, settling her head gently on a pillow, as she glares at Ron. “Merlin, you’re a berk,” she mutters before she turns to Hermione. “Hey, Hermione—”

“Of course, I’ll watch her,” Hermione sighs, because she’s always the watchful one. Ginny grins at her and flits over to the bar, probably to hang from Zabini like a koala, and to maybe hint at them becoming something official, though inevitably Ginny’s bravado will fall away until Zabini forces something genuine out of her.

All of Hermione’s friends aren’t predictable, per se, but frightfully easy to read.

Hermione follows Ginny with her eyes, gaze catching on Riddle and Harry again. They’re pressed together, kissing slowly, lost in a rhythm that only they know. And she knows how it might look if someone caught her staring. They might think, _Granger’s just jealous that her friend got the guy_.

And Hermione would laugh, in that way she regrets, because they have _no_ idea.

All of Hermione’s friends are frightfully easy to read. Hermione thinks that perhaps she’s not, and that most frightful of all.

“You ever think about how some people just...fit? Even if they fight all of the time?” Ron asks slowly.

Hermione hums. “Not really. I feel like Harry and Riddle might be a special case. But, when aren’t they?” she asks, staring into the crowd. She’s still watching Riddle and Harry as they break apart and Harry laughs into the crease of Riddle’s neck, clinging to him. Her gaze slides away as they catch on soft golden curls next.

Lavender flounces out of the throng of people, squeezing right past Harry. She turns, a sparkly pink drink in her hand, and she giggles, saying something to the pair. Harry rolls his eyes and waves her off, and not once does Lavender’s smile falter.

Merlin, Hermione admires her strength.

Lavender scoots towards them and drops to her knees in front of them. She looks windswept and happy, and while she’s not round, she’s no longer on the edge of ghastly thinness.

“I just danced for ages, and I—” and then Lavender stops as she pulls Luna’s head into her lap and strokes her silvery hair. She looks between Ron and Hermione, grinning to herself. “Oh. _Oh_. Am I...interrupting?”

Ron sits up ramrod straight. “Er, uh, no, not at all.”

It’s not a lie, but the way Ron says makes it sound like it is. Hermione rolls her eyes.

 _Impossible_.

“I mean, are you sure?” Lavender drawls. “Everyone seems to be...pairing up.”

She waggles her eyebrows.

“Only Ginny and Harry,” Hermione points out, and she gazes at the pair again, and hopes that no one reads it for what it is.

Except, Lavender is not stupid. She is far more people savvy than Hermione can claim.

“Oh, but you want to be too, do you?” Lavender asks. “I _still_ wanna try my hand at matchmaking.”

She practically sings every word, and it’s lovely, a melody that Hermione could drown in if she let herself.

And because Hermione is a masochist _(1. A paradox, 2. A hypocrite, 3. A masochist)_ , she leans forward, skeptical.

“Who do you see me with, then?” Hermione drawls.

 _You,_ she does not say to answer her own question.

Lavender laughs, sweetly, secretively. “Now, let me formulate my _plan_ first, Mione. I know better than to go to the great mind of Hermione Granger without a plan. You would logic love, wouldn’t you?”

Hermione is not stupid.

She knows, she _knows_ that there’s _nothing_ logical about love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are at the final story in the HEX trilogy. This is the story that means the most to me.
> 
> I am not Muslim, but I am a queer black sorta-religious woman, and so I wanted to tell the story of a queer religious POC woman. Thus, we have Hermione. I want to go into this warning you that this will be another hard story to tell, and possibly to read.
> 
> There will be slurs. Racial, religious, and homophobic slurs, all that I've experienced being called. So, I want to prepare you for that early.
> 
> Furthermore, the 'n-word' will be in a lot of the song lyrics that I use, because Hermione is present in a lot of R&B and hip-hop, which has reclaimed a word meant to dehumanize. This word is for Black people to reclaim, and in this, Hermione is a Black woman.
> 
> But, no matter what we go through, there is a Happy Ending at the end of this story, even though there isn't for many other women.
> 
> Here is: the miseducation of hermione granger.


	2. MONDAY, 9:07PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Hermione makes lists.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Without losing a piece of me  
> How do I get to heaven?  
> Without changing a part of me  
> How do I get to heaven?  
> All my time is wasted  
> Feeling like my heart's mistaken, oh  
> So if I'm losing a piece of me  
> Maybe I don't want heaven?"
> 
> HEAVEN, Troye Sivan

It’s only the first day back, and Hermione is in the library.

She knows that she’s being rather eager, but she likes to think of it as clever. The professors like to lull their students into a false sense of contentment, and then tend to tear the magic rug from under them as grading deadlines approach. Hermione already knows that studying for her vast number of exams will be ghastly, and so she’s put herself on an extremely regimented schedule.

_(1. Herbology Essay due next Monday_

  1. _Arithmancy Problem Set_
  2. _Charm Spell Practice — Vinegar to Wine_
  3. _Brainstorm final Ancient Runes project)_



She needs this schedule.

It’s the only thing keeping her sane, because it has been a _day._

She thinks ‘day’ in italics, even her note-taking slants as her left eyes twitches and she thinks about how it had been a _day_.

From the crack of dawn, Lavender was upon her, a little notebook in her hand and a quill not far from it. She asks incessant little questions: _what’s your favorite colour? What’s your favorite book? Favourite school subject? What do you want to be when you grow up? What was your childhood home like? Do you like to cook? Hair or eyes?_

And Hermione had answered them all before breakfast, answering each methodically when she could, and then a sharp look and a pointed ‘ _I don’t know_ ’ had sufficed for the rest.

Hermione had thought Lavender was done after that.

She had been woefully proven wrong at the breakfast table.

Hermione likes to sit between Harry and Lavender. She almost always sits next to Harry because that’s her habit, and she almost never sits across from Ron because she thinks that he eats with too much gusto, and it’s a bit much. Except, today, she’d been maneuvered directly across from him with Lavender sidled up to his side, whispering the exact same questions in his ear.

At least she thought she was whispering. In Hermione’s expert opinion, Lavender doesn’t really know the meaning of the word.

During break, Hermione had found herself next to Ron, somehow, who kept trying to engage Lavender in conversation. Lavender had somehow made it all about Hermione so many times that by the end of break, Ron had looked terribly confused.

And then _lunch_ hadn't gone any better. It was just a lot of Lavender giggling, looking her in the eye, elbowing Hermione when she thought Ron was doing something funny. The difference was that while Lavender thought Ron terribly endearing, Hermione found his eating habits and lack of emotional range...less so.

All in all, it had been a _day_ , and now, Hermione is finally alone to decompress in her favorite place in the entire world, the library, because it makes sense. The facts are all there, in books. She understands every word, and it's all fact, and if it isn’t, it’s quite easy to discern what is and what isn’t. It’s there in ink, never changing.

People aren’t like that, except in all the ways that they are.

Hermione wishes she wasn’t like the books in the library.

Still and unchanging.

_(1. Periwinkle_

  1. _The Book Thief, it’s Muggle_
  2. _Ancient Runes_
  3. _I don’t know_
  4. _Full of love and affection and family and Allah, in all of the best ways, and my parents were brilliant, but weren’t quite sure what to make of a child like me._
  5. _I don’t know how to cook._
  6. _Your hair, your eyes, Lavender.)_



The list of answers that she keeps close to her heart feels like they’ll never change, and she wants it to, desperately. She doesn’t want to feel like this anymore.

Hermione doesn’t want to _feel_ like this, anymore.


	3. TUESDAY, 8:13AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Hermione gets a letter.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah  
> Tell me that it's warm enough here for ya  
> Is it warm enough for ya inside me, me, me, me?  
> Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah  
> Tell me that it's warm enough here for ya  
> Warm enough outside, inside me, me, me, me"
> 
> Drew Barrymore, SZA

“Did you _see_?” Lavender asks the minute she arrives to breakfast. She sounds out of breath, and when Hermione looks up at her, she nearly smiles. Lavender is practically vibrating with news, her wide mouth spread into a barely suppressed smile. “Oh, Hermione, you left _without_ me this morning. _Again._ And I didn’t see you get in last night.”

“I was working in the library until curfew, and then I patrolled,” Hermione says, tearing her eyes away from Lavender and her soft golden ringlets, directing her stare back down to her mother’s last letter.

“You patrolled without me?” Ron asks around a mouthful of bacon.

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” Hermione hisses, rolling her eyes. Ron, for some reason, looks hurt. He looks over at Harry with wide, hopeful eyes, but Harry, very carefully, doesn’t make eye contact with him. Hermione purses her lips and looks between the two of them shrewdly, searching for an answer.

When she doesn’t find one, she shakes her head.

Boys _._

“What is it that we were supposed to see, Lavender?” Ginny asks around a huge yawn. She sits down between Ron and Luna and grabs a plate of toast, dragging it towards her. “She _refused_ to say a word until we were all together. She kept starting and stopping the whole way down.”

“Well, that’s because it’s _huge_ news,” Lavender points out, nearly a whinge. “Now, can anyone _guess_?”

“Oh, a guessing game? This early in the morning?” Harry sighs.

Lavender glares at him. “Oh, _fine_ ,” she snaps. “Well. I’ve heard from Parvati who heard from Padma who heard from Daphne Greengrass—”

“Who heard from?” Hermione tacks on just as an owl swoops from overhead, nearly dropping an envelope into her porridge. She saves it from a sticky death and turns it over, looking down at the name across the front of the plain white envelope.

_Our Jinan_

Lavender slots into the seat next to Hermione and she peeks down.

“Who’s that? ‘Jinan’?” Lavender asks.

“That’s Hermione’s middle name,” Harry says. He stares at Lavender with a raised eyebrow. “Weren’t you going to tell us this _amazing_ piece of gossip?”

Lavender balks. “ _Ugh,_ so rude. Anyway, Pansy Parkinson is back.”

Hermione tears open her letter and smiles when she’s the lined paper that no one at Hogwarts uses. In her six years as a student, she’s never seen a single person use a spiral notebook. She remembers when she first got her letter and her Mama went out to buy spiral notebooks before she realized that everything was written on parchment.

 _Dear our beloved daughter,_ the letter begins, and Hermione laughs under her breath because it’s the exact overdramatic way that her father would start every letter that they send to her. At first, she’d complained about it. Every weekly letter starting in such a childish way. Now, it comforts Hermione. Merlin, she misses them.

_Dear our beloved daughter,_

_It has only been days since you’ve been home, and we miss you as strongly as the first day that you went away. But, we know how important your education is, and you know how important it is to us that you succeed in all ways. You have greatness in you, habibati. Allah blessed us both when he gave you to us._

_Now, we have nothing to report just yet. It’s only been a few days since you went back to school, and your mother hasn’t made a terrible mistake again like nearly making a five-year-old vomit from sticking the mouth mirror…_

**Your Baba thinks he has jokes, my dear. I have taken the letter from him, so this is between us. I am writing because Ramadan begins this week. I know it has been a long time since you were home for the holy month, but we do miss celebrating with you. If only for the weekends, come take iftar with us. It will just be us. You will not have to wear a hijab, if you do not want to. We will not make you participate in the Salat, either, for you must choose to follow Muhammad,** **_alayhi s-salām,_ ** **and his teachings.**

**But, habibati, we miss you always. We want to celebrate with you. If you cannot, we understand too. Just understand that this is your** **_home_** **, and nothing will change that.**

**We have sent a letter to the Headmaster, as well as your Head of House so that they understand. Let us know if you will come, my daughter.**

**Love,**

**Mama** _and Baba_

Hermione stares down at the letter, overwhelmed with the rush of emotions that hit her at once.

Hermione misses them. When she was a kid, she never had any friends besides her cousins. She only has three cousins in London, the rest of her family back in Marrakesh on her mother’s side, and Cairo on her father’s side. Her cousins are her paternal uncle’s children, and they are much stricter in the faith than Hermione’s parents. Hermione’s mother goes through phases of wearing her hijab, and she’s never demanded Hermione wear it.

They celebrated Ramadan. They didn’t often go to the mosque.

Her parents have never asked her to come home for Ramadan before.

And something in Hermione wants to go. She wants to go home and eat dates. She wants to break iftar and eat her favorite food. She wants to be with her parents.

And then, she thinks that there are some things they don’t know.

_(_

  1. _They don’t know that she eats bacon. Haram._
  2. _They don’t know that she drinks. Haram._
  3. _They don’t know that she’s a...that she’s a…_ )



Hermione grabs the letter and shoves it back into the envelope. She tucks it into her bag, and looks up. She can compartmentalize. Hermione is very good at compartmentalizing and logicking things into place. She throws herself back into the conversation.

“...cares if she’s back,” Ginny is saying.

“She’s been gone for _ages,_ and now, she’s back, with that red lipstick and that new haircut, have you seen?” Lavender asks. “It’s so _chic_. It’s so _fashionable._ It’s so...”

“I saw her,” Luna provides helpfully. “Very Paris.”

Lavender nods. “Yes! So very Paris!” Lavender says. She sighs romantically to herself. “Do you think she went away to Paris and just...self-improved?”

“And missed lessons for _that_?” Hermione asks. “She sounds rather stupid to me.”

Harry hums. “Well, we don’t really know if that’s what she was doing,” Harry points out. “But, Ginny’s right. Does it really matter?”

Lavender rolls her eyes. “Of _course,_ it matters. How could someone just disappear and then reappear without a single explanation?”

“I mean, Parkinson did it, didn’t she?” Ron asks as he bulldozes through the rasher of bacon that he’d awarded himself with. He pauses, reaching for the last few pieces. He looks around. “Anyone want that?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione says, primly, snatching the bacon from the plate. Ron looks equally put out and intrigued. Hermione ignores it because she’s good at that.

“Well, I was just _relating_ an interesting piece of gossip. I can't believe you're not more interested,” Lavender pouts.

"We don't really know Parkinson," Luna says with a light shrug.

“Ugh. I'm just so _bored!_ " Lavender whinges. "There’s no _drama_ going on. Ginny’s dating Zabini. Harry has his precious boyfriend—”

“Oh, believe me. There’s nothing precious about him,” Harry says, mouth twitching.

Lavender rolls her eyes. “I just want something to _happen_.”


	4. WEDNESDAY, 5:02PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione is conned by a professor.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Its been a little bit crazy, I've been feeling some type of way lately  
> It's too much, I said no fun  
> So can we have the remote to the TV called life?  
> Can we play fast forward, rewind?  
> Rewatch while we wine and dine it's so fine straight or spine and we won't grab it better catch it for a fly
> 
> All this way too much for me (me)  
> All this way too much for me (for me, me)  
> Giving me anxiety  
> All this way too much for me (me)  
> All this way too much for me (for me, me)"
> 
> Down, Chloe x Halle

“And that’s all for this week,” Professor Babbling announces. Almost immediately, Susan Bones slams her books shut, and Zabini is almost out of the room with a cursory nod that’s vaguely in Hermione’s direction. “Don’t forget! I’d like you to translate that Phoenician script by next Wednesday. It’s crucial to prepare for our final project.”

Hermione only starts to pack up after Professor Babbling is done because she hates when people interrupt one of her favorite teachers. It’s rude, and she can’t stand it. She taps her practice slate with her wand, wiping it clean of chalk, even as she commits the runes to memory to practice later. It’s only when she’s about to pack her copy of _Advance Rune Translation_ that she realizes that Professor Babbling is still there, perched on the edge of her desk.

“Miss Granger, when you’re finished packing, do come up here. I’d like to speak with you,” Professor Babbling says.

Hermione nods. “Yes, ma’am.” She knows that if any of her friends were asked to stay after class, they’d be scared shitless, but Hermione’s rarely been afraid of professors except for their potential disapproval. She has nothing to fear from Professor Babbling. She’s always done remarkably well in Ancient Runes. She approaches the woman with a small smile. “Professor Babbling?”

Hermione has always been in slight awe of Bathsheda Babbling. She’s a witch of immense talent and knowledge, and she’s close friends with two of Hermione’s favorite professors, Aurora Sinistra—an Afro-English witch like Hermione—and Septima Vector. She knows for a fact that Professor Babbling was rooting for Castelbruxo during the Duelling competition, her alma mater.

“You’re doing very well, Hermione,” Professor Babbling says.

“Thank you, Professor?”

Professor Babbling’s lips quirk into a tiny smile. “ _Very_ well. Do you think you might pursue a future in the field? You’re talented at Ancient Runes, and I have it on good authority that you’re top of the class in Arithmancy as well. Curse-breaking could be your calling.”

And Hermione lights up because the idea of curse-breaking has always been appealing. It’s...adventure and discovery and learning. All of that knowledge, hidden under layers of curses and jinxes and hexes that Hermione would pull back piece by piece. But, she knows that it’s not for her.

“Ah, probably not, Professor. I hope to go into the Ministry or...pursue reform, that is,” Hermione says.

Professor Babbling looks politely intrigued. “Is that so? What kind of reform?”

“I...well, I originally wanted to look into elfish welfare, but I’ve pivoted recently to werewolf relief,” Hermione explains. She stands up taller, lifting her chin. “I’ve already raised some money and Professor Lupin is helping me structure out a full program. I’m prepared to launch sometime next October.”

She doesn’t realize that she’s challenging Professor Babbling until the older woman laughs and lifts her hands.

“I believe you. And I don’t have a problem with it, you know. I like Remus, and I’ve done my fair share of protests in my day,” Professor Babbling says.

Hermione swallows. “Oh. I, just…”

“I understand,” Professor Babbling says with a wink.

Hermione glances at Professor Babbling’s bronze skin, her dark hair, listens to the slight accent she has.

 _Yes,_ she thinks. _Professor Babbling understands._

“Is that all, Professor?” Hermione asks, glancing back at the door.

“Not quite,” Professor Babbling says. “Like I said, I know that you’re excellent in Arithmancy. Professor Vector has also told me that you’re a _very_ apt tutor. Lavender Brown is another one of her top students, though at a lower level, of course.”

Hermione pauses, and her mouth twitches against her will. Tutoring Lavender was _not_ easy, at first, but it was definitely during those homework sessions that Hermione had truly gotten to know Lavender. It’s where she realized her aptitude for hard work, her compassion, her flightiness, her sweetness. Hermione swallows around her dry mouth.

“Yes, I tutored her. It was fun. Now, she doesn’t even need much tutoring. We just do homework together,” Hermione says, and then she regrets it because is she sharing too much information? She’s not really sure.

“That’s good to hear!” Professor Babbling say, clapping her hands. She looks at Hermione slyly, her mouth twitching. “What do you say about taking on another student?”

Hermione’s face falls. “Uh...in Arithmancy?”

“No, of course not,” Professor Babbling says, shaking her head. “In Ancient Runes. Pansy Parkinson.”

Hermione takes a step back without meaning to. “Oh, Professor, I’m not sure if I’d feel comfortable tutoring someone in _Ancient Runes._ I’m really not that—”

“Oh, but you are,” Professor Babbling corrects, quite seriously. She leans forward. “Hermione, Pansy...has been in and out of school for a few months. This is no fault of her own, but it exists. If she wants to graduate with her class, she’ll need to make up quite a bit of work.”

Hermione stammers. “I...yes, but...I don’t even _know_ Pansy. Lavender was my friend—”

“Was she at first?” Professor Babbling challenges. “It’s my opinion that Lavender Brown is not the kind of girl that you would normally make friends with. Am I correct in that opinion?”

“I...well, no.”

“Well, then, maybe you’ll be friends with Pansy too,” Professor Babbling says. “I can arrange the first meeting with Pansy. How does Friday around 4 pm sound?”

And Hermione blinks rapidly, because she’s not sure what just happened.

She thinks she’s been conned into giving more tutoring sessions despite it being near the end of the year and the fact that she’s _incredibly_ busy. Hermione has _plans_. Most of the past term has been spent focusing on Duelling Club, and now, she has all the time in the world for the things she _wants_ to be doing.

There’s the werewolf relief fund and her classes and independent research and _Ramadan_ is coming up.

She should say _no_. She should emphatically declare, _no, thank you_.

But, Hermione has never been good at saying no to authority figures.

So, all she can say is, “That sounds...great, Professor.”


	5. THURSDAY, 8:30PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione remembers as it was, and the holy month begins.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Just as it was, baby  
> Before the otherness came  
> And I knew its name  
> The drug, the dark, the light, the flame
> 
> As It Was, Hozier

“Should we go to Hogsmeade on Saturday?” Luna asks as she stares up at the sky.

They’re sitting in the courtyard, still firmly tucked into their robes and heavy sweaters, though April had long arrived. Hermione isn’t surprised. It’s always freezing in the highlands. Sometimes, in the early mornings, she can still see her breath if she goes outside.

“There’s a Quidditch game on Saturday. We can’t,” Harry says firmly. He’s carefully considering his new formal playbook. It’s still full of the same scrawls he used to put on spare pieces of parchment, but now collected between two leather covers. Hermione thinks Riddle bought it for him.

“Aren’t you providing commentary?” Hermione asks.

Lavender frowns, rolling over onto her side, away from her conversation with Ginny. “Isn’t it against your _House,_ Luna?”

Hermione giggles under her breath.

Luna hums. “Oh. Right. I _guess_ I’ll need to add a few eagles flying around my lion’s head. Maybe a crown of eagles. How does that sound?” she asks.

Ron smothers his laughter in the crease of his arm and then, he looks at her, eager. “Would you really do it, Luna? Are you serious?”

“I’m rarely not,” Luna says, quite as seriously as she claims, and yet, there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Ron sees it too, because he howls, falling back into the grass, gaining the attention of some of the other occupants of the courtyard—namely the attention of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. They glare nastily, and Malfoy looks like he wants to say something or do something. And then, his gaze shifts over to Harry, and he thinks better of it.

Harry dating Riddle _does_ have its uses.

“Who will you be rooting for then, Luna?” Ginny asks. She quirks an eyebrow. “There’s a right answer.”

Luna hums. “I’m a commentator. I must remain an unbiased judge,” she says with the gravitas of a judge of the dead.

Ginny snorts. “Wrong answer.”

“Well, Hermione and I will be rooting for Gryffindor, _won’t_ we?” Lavender declares. She glances over and Hermione laughs with a nod.

“Of course. Who else would we root for? Cho Chang?” Hermione asks.

Ron gawks. “Oh. _Remember_ when we thought that Harry had a crush on Cho Chang?”

Hermione bursts into laughter as Harry groans in utter embarrassment.

Lavender turns, twisting her legs under her. “Please, share with the _class_.”

“Please, don’t,” Harry mutters.

“Harry, you _did_ stare at her a lot.”

“You _stared_? Don’t tell me she’s the one girl…” Ginny teases, waggling her eyebrows.

Harry rolls his eyebrows. He turns to her. “I actually have always thought that if I _ever_ were interested in girls, _you_ would be the one.”

Ginny’s teasing falters and she stares at Harry with wide eyes. “I...really?”

“Yes,” Harry says simply.

“Hey, that’s my sister!” Ron protests.

Harry glares. “I’m _gay._ I have a _boyfriend_.”

“It’s rather a romantic thing to say, habibi,” Hermione teases, because she can’t really help herself.

Harry glares at her and rolls his eyes. Ginny still looks touched, and she smiles at him, just a little softer.

“What about _me_?” Lavender demands.

“You’re an annoying little sister,” Harry retorts.

Lavender cackles. “Don’t think this will distract me. As my right as an annoying little sister, I _demand_ to know what this debacle with Cho Chang is all about.”

“Damn,” Harry mutters.

Ron leans forward. “Well, it was our third year, and Harry just _couldn’t_ take his eyes off of Cho Chang. It started in Diagon Alley, right, Mione? I think it was, because that was the first time Remus and Sirius came to get supplies too…”

And Hermione remembers third year well.

That was the best year. The worst year. The kind of year Hermione doesn’t think she’ll ever forget.

She’d turned fourteen just two weeks into third year, and fourteen was the worst for a young girl, she thinks. Her body, her mind, her everything had been caught in between, and she’d thought that she could have it all. That was her Time Turner year.

That was the year that Harry had become habibi, when she’d started to realize that maybe something wasn’t quite right, that maybe the sadness that had lurked at the corner of his green eyes went just a little deeper. That was the year that she’d punched Draco Malfoy for taunting him. That was the year it started.

That was the year she’d realized she wanted to taste lips that tasted like cherry chapstick.

She stares up at the sky and thinks that it feels like yesterday.

It feels like a million years ago.

And now, it feels as it was, before she’d learned all of the worst things and the best things too.

“--and then, get this, get this, this is the _best_ part. We realized it wasn’t _Cho_ that he was staring at! It was _Cedric!_ ”

“Oh my God, Ron, fuck off!”

Hermione is so content now. She might not always be happy, but Merlin, she’s content, sitting here in the yellowing twilight, surrounded by people that love her.

Hermione watches as the sun goes down.

She _watches_ as the sun goes down.

Hermione is on her feet before she even realizes that she’s going to stand. Harry stutters mid-sentence, and he looks up at her, suddenly alert.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m...I’m fine. I just need a moment,” Hermione declares.

Ron stands. “Do you need someone—”

“No!” Hermione barks out. She’s digging in her bag, looking for...looking for... “I just need a personal moment. Sorry. Thanks. I’ll be back, I swear. Just...fifteen minutes.”

She spins on her heel, her burgundy scarf fluttering behind her. She’s running down the long corridors, and it should feel strange. She’s usually the one yelling at someone to slow down. But, she can’t. She can’t slow down, because she’ll be late and—

Hermione finds an empty classroom.

She slams the door shut behind her.

“ _Colloportus_ ,” she declares, and she hears the door lock shut. Hermione had the foresight to tie her hair back into a low puff today. To herself, she mutters, “But, clearly not enough foresight to set a watch. _Tempus._ ”

It’s 8:36. Sundown. _Maghrib._

She kicks off her shoes, reaching down and hopping around one foot to strip away one sock, and then the other, until she feels bare, cool stone beneath her feet.

Hermione pulls her wand and Conjures a prayer mat. She lays it down, wraps her hair loosely in her scarf. She doesn’t wear a hijab, and she almost never prays, but she feels the memory in her muscles, in her bones. She will wash her hands, her face, her feet with an _Aguamenti_ spell. She knows the routine. It is Maghrib. It is time to pray. It's a holy time. A holy month.

It’s the beginning of Ramadan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tend to get really rude annoying anonymous comments from time to time, typically with someone disagreeing with how I characterize people, especially when I change a major character to a POC. So, I just want to reiterate: Hermione Granger is Afro-Arab in this story. Her parents are from Morocco and Egypt. Her father is Black, her mother is Arab. Her last name--as for MANY POC--is a product of colonialism. She speaks Arabic at home, which is why she calls her mother and father 'mama and baba'.
> 
> I will not debate this. Any further comments along those lines WILL be deleted. I'm not gonna play this shit, particularly with this story.


	6. FRIDAY, 3:47PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione has a tutoring session.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Masseduction  
> Masseduction  
> I can't turn off what turns me on  
> Masseduction  
> I can't turn off what turns me on  
> Masseduction  
> I hold you like a weapon  
> Mass destruction  
> I don't turn off what turns me on  
> Masseduction  
> I can't turn off what turns me on  
> Masseduction  
> I can't turn off what turns me on  
> Masseduction  
> I hold you like a weapon  
> Mass destruction  
> I don't turn off what turns me on"
> 
> -Masseduction, St. Vincent

Harry groans again, his frustrated grunts the unwanted soundtrack to Hermione’s precious study session. She sighs as she watches him lift his quill, preparing to scratch out the intro paragraph to the Herbology essay. Hermione reaches across, grabbing his wrist, and she winces when a drop of ink splatters on the parchment. Harry looks up, the space between his brows creased.

“I was going to say just write a draft and give it to me, but it seems you’re finished for the day, aren’t you, habibi?” Hermione asks with a dry smile.

“Completely and utterly finished, Merlin,” Harry mutters under his breath. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Not if we win. Sunday, you mean,” Hermione corrects primly because she knows Harry. If they win tomorrow, Harry will want to celebrate. First, publically and then, most definitely privately with his boyfriend.

“Yes, Sunday. I promised to study with Tom. He’ll make me do it. Maybe he’ll do it for me,” Harry says to himself.

Hermione glares at him. “Riddle is the Head Boy, he wouldn’t…” and she trails off. “Yes, he would. He’s a cheater. Just one that has never been caught.”

“Cheater in life. Never in school,” Harry corrects.

Hermione scoffs.

“So…” Harry trails off. “You asked me to study. When was the last time we studied together?”

“We _always_ study together.”

“But, alone. Not waiting on anyone. You _specifically_ mentioned you wanted to do this before dinner, because you knew we wouldn’t possibly be left alone afterwards. You even told everyone else to meet us here at 5, and no sooner, on pain of death. So, what’s going on?” Harry asks.

Hermione hesitates.

“I…well…Harry, you look so happy,” she murmurs, and she’s not sure if he can hear the envy in her voice, but _wallah_ , she’s jealous.

“Well, I _am_ happy,” Harry says with a tiny smile. “I’m the Captain of my Quidditch team. I’m Captain of the Duelling Team. I have Tom. And _you_. And all of our friends. I have Remus and Sirius. I go to therapy. I’m sober. I am _very_ happy.”

“ _Wallah,_ that makes me happy,” Hermione whispers, her voice cracking. Harry’s eyes widen. “I remember...just yesterday, talking about third year reminded me of when you weren’t. And _,_ I’m so glad that you’re happy. I want you to be happy.”

And somehow—because Harry is better at Ron at these things, but he’s not the best at it—Harry seems to hear what she’s not quite saying.

Awkwardly, he asks, “Are you...not?”

“Not...not all of the time,” Hermione confesses.

“Do you...want to talk about it?”

“Not now, not yet,” Hermione says immediately, even though she knows he’d be the first person she tells. _I’m a lesbian,_ she’d say to him, and she knows that he would still love her. He would hug her and say, _well, you’re not the only special one, Mione, I’m gay,_ and it would make her laugh. But, she can’t say it. Not yet. She’s not sure why. “I’m sorry...I’m just so tired. I didn’t want to complain to anyone else.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“Because they’d think I was whinging.”

Harry barks out a laugh that’s just a little too loud for the library. In the distance, Madame Pince hisses, and both Harry and Hermione flinch.

“Hermione, you are the least whiny person that I’ve ever met,” Harry declares. “You are _always_ solving other people’s problems. Never telling people about your own. I always wonder what’s going on up there in your head.”

“Just lists. All of it.”

“I hope they’re not all to-do lists,” Harry says softly.

Hermione is frenetic in nature. She doesn’t know how to stand still. Harry doesn’t need to be told to know that.

“I—”

“Tell me what you have to do,” Harry interrupts.

Hermione looks at him, grateful. “Well, Professor Lupin and I are planning to have lunch on Sunday, you’ll be there, right? We’ll be going over some of your mum’s old plans for werewolf relief. She never really got much of a foothold there, but I want to flesh out some of her ideas, but I don’t want to do that uninformed outside of the books I’ve read. We’re thinking about perhaps conducting interviews or surveys this summer to gain insight on what the werewolf population really wants.”

“Yes, I’ll be there Sunday,” Harry says, simply. “What else?”

“I’m quite tired. I’m preparing for seven NEWTs, and I’d quite like an O in all of them. And now, my Ancient Runes professor has asked me to tutor Pansy _Parkinson_ ,” Hermione says, and she’s not sure why she says Pansy’s name like that, spitting it out, but she can’t help it.

“Didn’t you tell her ‘no’?” Harry asks.

Hermione falters. “Well, I...you can’t just say ‘no’ to a professor!” Hermione declares, lifting her chin.

Harry snorts. “Yes, you _can_.”

“No, you _can’t,_ ” Hermione says reproachfully. “And anyway, I simply don’t have the time. My time is worth quite a bit, and I’m not sure Parkinson is worth it. She doesn’t seem very serious about her studies, does she? Just leaving school in the middle of term and _gallivanting_ off to Allah knows where. It’s irresponsible.”

Harry is suspiciously silent. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he’s looking at something just behind Hermione.

And Hermione knows.

_Fuck._

“Your time’s worth a lot, then?” The voice isn’t deep, per se, but textured with just the slight croak. “Don’t bother wasting it on me.”

Hermione turns in her seat just in time to see Pansy turn her back on her and stalk away. Hermione watches the back seam of her stockings and then Pansy turns the corner and she’s gone. Hermione turns around to face Harry, wide-eyed.

“I—” Hermione starts.

Harry bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe she showed up in the middle of _that_!”

Hermione blinks wildly. “I...what _time_ is it?”

“ _Tempus_ ,” Harry casts. He hums. “Four o’ clock. Why?”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Hermione hisses. She jumps to her feet. “I told Professor Babbling that I’d tutor Pansy at 4 on Friday. It’s 4 on Friday.”

Harry doesn’t stop laughing. “Well, it looks like she’s not trying to waste your time.”

“I can’t _believe_ she heard me. Oh, I’m so embarrassed,” Hermione declares, burying her face in her hands. She looks at Harry from between her fingers. “I have to go apologize, don’t I?”

Harry looks nonplussed. “Do you?”

“Yes! I was so... _mean_ ,” Hermione declares. “I’m not mean! I have to go. Just...watch my stuff!”

Hermione doesn’t bother grabbing anything besides her Gryffindor scarf and she wraps it around her neck as she stalks out of the library, looking both ways as she searches for Pansy Parkinson.

“ _Point me_ Pansy Parkinson,” she declares as she perches her wand on top of her flat hand, and she watches it as it spins and spins until it points northeast. In the direction of the courtyard.

Hermione moves just a little faster, twisting between the stray pairs and groups of students as she heads towards the courtyard. And then, she finds her.

Pansy Parkinson is taller than her.

It’s not hard to be taller than Hermione, but it’s only now that Hermione’s looking at her—really, truly looking at her—that she notices.

Pansy is long and tall and devastatingly thin. She looks even thinner in her black ensemble. Her black skirt is shorter than regulation, brushing against pale thighs, revealing the top of her lace stockings, held up by magic or some invisible garter. Her white button-down is open down to the third, tie hanging loosely around her neck. She either doesn’t notice Hermione or she does and she’s pretending not to.

Pansy lifts the end of her wand to the joint between her lips and lights it. She inhales slowly and then she releases the smoke, tension already leaking out of her shoulders.

Hermione is mesmerized by the movement, by her bright red lips wrapped around the end of a rolled joint. She doesn’t know what to say. _What does she say?_

“You’re not supposed to smoke marijuana on school grounds.”

_Not that._

Pansy looks up, amused. “Why not?”

“It’s against the _rules_ ,” Hermione insists, eyes narrowed. “If you don’t put it out—”

“What, you’ll take house points?” Pansy sighs. She already seems tired. She turns to straddle the windowsill she’s half hanging out of—and her skirt rides up impossibly higher—and she grins. “Listen, Granger, I don’t give a damn about house points. Did you need something? You’ve already told me that you have no interest in tutoring me or partnering up for this final project or whatever.”

Hermione is so glad that her skin is dark enough that she can’t blush, but she still knows she wears her embarrassment on her face.

“I’m, er, sorry,” she mumbles, looking down. “It was...I was really, truly out of line. I know Professor Babbling specifically requested that we partner, but I...I’ve never really worked well with others, and—you know you should _really_ put that out.”

Pansy’s eyes glitter for just a moment and she grins something wicked, leaning forward, revealing a flash of pale flesh, a flash of black lace.

“Why? Want a hit?” Pansy drawls.

“N- _no!_ ” Hermione snaps.

Pansy snorts. “Of course not, Perfect Prefect _Granger_. Too good for—”

And no, Hermione is not _perfect_. She is so _far_ from perfect that—

“Give me that,” she snaps, and she takes the joints, and takes a hit, long and slow.

She breathes in, because Hermione knows how, and she lets the smoke hit her lungs. It’s been a long time. The high doesn’t come at once, but it comes, even with one hit. It’s good weed. Hermione isn’t surprised; Pansy is _loaded_ and she looks it. Hermione exhales, letting the smoke hit Pansy in the face.

Pansy doesn’t look surprised. She looks _interested_.

“Well, well. You showed me,” Pansy drawls. “Who taught you how to smoke like that?”

Hermione’s brow furrows. “I’m a Muggleborn. And I have Muggle cousins.”

It’s haram for them too. Only one of them smokes. Her cousin, Amira. She went through a phase. Hermione doesn’t think she smokes anymore, but she doesn’t know. She hasn’t really spoken to Amira in a few years, not in any real way. Hermione doesn’t think she’s talking to any of her Muggle family in a few years, not in any real way, not even her parents.

“Color me _impressed_ ,” Pansy jibes with a grin. “Well, first, Granger: I have permission to smoke weed. Take it up with Snape. And second: you’re rather ridiculous, aren’t you?”

Hermione’s jaw drops. “I’m _not_ —”

“Cool it, kitten. Tuck away those claws,” Pansy drawls and she smirks as she swings around and scoots to the side. She pats the makeshift seat next to her.

Hermione imagines that if she sat right next to Pansy, she’d feel the heat of the other girl’s thigh through her trousers, and it turns her stomach, though she’s not sure why.

She stares at Pansy’s red mouth and wonders why she never thought about Lavender’s lips.

_(Never thought about:_

  1. _Lavender’s thighs_
  2. _Lavender’s mouth_
  3. _Lavender’s soft curves, eithe_ r)



Hermione lifts her chin and stalks forward, pushing up to sit on the window sill. She tucks herself into the stone, turns to look at Pansy. But, Pansy is still staring forward, a wry twist to her mouth as she takes another hit. She offers the joint to Hermione and Hermione already feels her mouth turning to cotton.

She takes the joint anyway and takes a hit. She exhales and feels her eyes start to sting. This time, she _does_ cough.

“You were so smooth earlier!” Pansy laughs.

“Well, we can’t all be skilled smokers!” Hermione snaps. Pansy only laughs harder. Hermione sighs. “Weren’t you a prefect before? In our fifth year?”

Pansy’s laughter tapers off into something softer. “Yeah. Yeah, I was. I had to give it up this year. Things came up.”

Hermione nods. She watches as Pansy takes another hit and sighs to herself.

“What I said earlier…”

“Forget it,” Pansy says, shaking her head. She sounds strangled as she keeps the smoke in as long as possible

Hermione shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t right. I just...in all honesty, I didn’t really agree to tutor you. I was...pressed into doing it.”

“Ah,” Pansy breathes out, smoke billowing from mouth and nose. She turns to Hermione. “Well, I didn’t really agree to be tutored, so I suppose we’re both in the same boat.”

She offers the tiniest of smiles. It changes her face. She looks a little softer now, even with her severe bob and sharp eyes.

Hermione can’t help but smile back.

“So...I...can still tutor you, if you need me to?” Hermione offers.

Pansy hums. “I should say ‘no’. But, I’m a Slytherin. I’m also snarky, not stupid. You’re the best in class at Ancient Runes. So, I’ll say yes, I think. Yeah, you can tutor me.”

“You...you say it like you’re doing _me_ a favor,” Hermione mutters.

“Aren’t I? I gave you free weed, didn’t I?” Pansy asks with a smirk.

Hermione’s head is fuzzy. She’s not sure if it’s because of the weed or because of the way Pansy’s mouth just _twists_ with mischief.

“I guess you did,” Hermione retorts.

And they fall silent.

Pansy is staring at her as if she’s trying to see straight into Hermione’s soul, like she can see every list, every piece, every secret. Pansy stares and smiles like she doesn’t care about it all.

Hermione is high.

She must be high.

Pansy Parkinson doesn’t know her. Pansy Parkinson doesn’t know shit.

“Parkinson—”

“Hermione? Ron, that’s Hermione!”

Hermione jerks back hard, crushing herself to the stone. Pansy leans back like it doesn’t even bother her. She swiftly puts out her joint and tucks the half that remains in the top of her stockings, hiding it from suspecting eyes. Hermione looks up from the elastic band, up into Pansy’s eyes.

Pansy winks.

Hermione’s face feels hot.

She turns away, watching as Lavender wheels through the courtyard from the opposite corridor, tugging Ron after her a little violently. Lavender looks excited to see her, and Hermione’s heart twinges in her chest. She smiles.

“Lavender, Ron,” Hermione greets.

Ron is looking between Pansy and Hermione with a frown. “Um?” is all he says.

Pansy leaps off the windowsill, skirt whipping up dangerously high. Ron’s gaze catches and his lips part just the tiniest bit.

“I’ll see you later, Granger,” Pansy says.

“Yeah,” Hermione confirms. “Let’s...let’s try again next Friday? 4pm?”

“It’s a date, then, Granger.”

The way she says it makes it sound like it’s an actual date and Hermione _feels_ her stomach in a way that she never has before. It’s in knots. It aches. She wants to vomit with the feeling.

Parkinson winks again and then she sashays away, disappearing beyond the arch.

Lavender tugs Ron forward and shoves him. Ron stumbles back onto the windowsill, slotting in the place that Pansy had just abandoned. Lavender grins proudly.

“What was that about?” she asks.

“Um...nothing. Just tutoring,” Hermione says softly. She slides off the windowsill, ignoring Lavender’s pout. “Come on. Harry’s waiting for us in the library.”

Hermione leads them away.

She doesn’t look back, no matter how much she wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: FIRST WEEK AND I'M LATE LMAOOOO! Sorry! Hope the content makes up for it!


	7. SATURDAY, 3:21PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is a Quidditch game and ginny catches the eye of someone important.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Girls, you know you'd better watch out  
> Some guys, some guys are only about  
> That thing, that thing, that thing  
> That thing, that thing, that thing  
> Guys, you know you'd better watch out  
> 'Cause girls, some girls are only about  
> That thing, that thing, that thing  
> That thing, that thing, that thing
> 
> -Doo Wop (That Thing), Lauryn Hill

“And Ravenclaw is in possession…” Luna says dreamily as she stares up intently at the fast-paced game occurring before them. “Stretton has soft hands. He’s just holding that Quaffle as if it's stuck to his palm. Is that rule? Is that allowed? Are Sticking Charms in the rulebook? I feel like that makes the game more interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Miss Lovegood! Gryffindor is now in possession!” McGonagall squawks, her hawkish eyes darting back and forth across the field as Ginny steals the Quaffle from Stretton’s hands and she dives low to avoid both Roger Davies and Randolph Burrow.

Davies and Burrow nearly crash into one another as Ginny outmaneuvers them and speeds off to the goalposts, throwing hard at the left one. Grant Page tries to go for the save, but the tell-tale ding rings through the Quidditch pitch.

“And oh, look at that, my friend, Ginny, has scored. Gryffindor’s scored!” Luna says, delightedly. She claps, laughing to herself, and Hermione has to smother her own laughter in one hand. She looks over at Lavender, and Lavender is grinning over at Luna too. “I think that makes it...hmm, Professor McGonagall, do you know the score?”

“My word, Luna Lovegood. _Sonorous_. Seventy-forty to Gryffindor!” McGonagall barks, her voice booming as loud as Luna’s for just a moment.

“Too right,” Luna agrees. “Oh, look at that, Harry’s moving quite fast. Maybe he’s seen the Snitch.”

Hermione looks up and sees Harry finally fall into a daring dive after circling the game, high in the air for about twenty minutes. On the other side of Luna, Riddle finally looks up from whatever book he’s reading. He looks up, bored, even as the rest of his Death Eaters have been paying attention with varying degrees of investment. The Lestrange brothers look on the edge of their seat, Bellatrix Black seems grudgingly impressed, Nott rather expressionless, and Rosier seems only lightly amused.

Only Riddle—and maybe Hermione should start calling him Tom, since he’s with her best friend—seems bored.

“Oh, Cho is hot on the tail of his broomstick. You know, one time, she helped some of my housemates steal my shoes. I was barefoot for hours,” Luna says lightly.

McGonagall blanches. “ _What?_ ”

“Oh, it’s fine. I needed to be barefoot to commune with the Dapperblimps,” Luna says pleasantly. “Oh, look at that, Davies tries to score on Ron, but Ron simply can’t be caught. They call him the King of Gryffindor. Weasley is their King, haha! Oh, wow, Harry looks like he’s going to crash. Cho’s so close!”

And it’s true. Hermione leans forward, eyes widening. She glances over at Tom, and he slowly closes his book. His expression doesn’t flicker, but his dark burgundy gaze never leaves Harry. Harry is speeding straight for the ground, Cho right behind him. Harry looks behind him, eyes narrowing, and then, suddenly, Ginny’s there, spiraling around him.

She seems to be shouting something at Harry. Harry nods at her and Hermione gasps as the pair go perpendicular to the ground and then Ginny spirals in right where Harry was, allowing him to break free. Ginny jerks his broom up, cruising parallel to the ground again, sending Cho right into the sandpit.

The entire Quidditch Pitch gasps and quiets.

“TIME OUT!” Harry roars as he lands, stumbling to his knees. Madame Hooch rushes in from her referee perch.

“Gryffindor team captain Harry Potter has called a time out!” Luna says cheerfully, as if her housemate wasn’t in a potentially awful crash.

Then, sound explodes.

“That was crazy! Did you see that?” Lavender asks, shaking Hermione.

Hermione jumps. “Yes, I did. That was _dangerous_ ,” she whispers, looking back at the pitch.

Madame Hooch has landed, rushing towards Cho Chang, and where the rest of the Ravenclaw team has huddled around her.

“Well, it’s Quidditch,” Lavender says ruefully. She smiles cheekily around Luna. “Were you _worried,_ Tom?”

Hermione gapes; when had Lavender gotten confident enough to tease Tom Riddle?

Tom looks over at her, unamused. “No.”

Even _Hermione_ can tell he’s lying. She can’t help the giggle and the look she exchanges with Lavender. The Lestrange boys grin at one another and lean forward, probably to tease Tom until he threatens to torture them or whatever he does to keep his Death Eaters in line.

“So, Ron...he looks good out there,” Lavender says, waggling her eyebrows.

Hermione’s smile falls and she sighs. “They all do,” she says diplomatically.

Luna blinks, wide-eyed. “Not Cho Chang. She looks like _she_ might have a concussion,” she says. She reaches up to absently fidget with her headdress. It’s still a massive lion head, but she’s added a circle of baby eagles as a crown of sorts.

“But, _Ron_ —”

“Excuse me, you’re the commentator, yes? That girl...what’s her name? The redhead Gryffindor.”

The three girls look up, and McGonagall’s eyes widen when she sees the trio that stands just behind them.

“Oh, Headmaster. And you’ve brought a guest. Horace,” McGonagall greets, a small smile gracing her face. She nods at the pair of them, and then, she turns to the last. “And Miss Jones.”

“I’ve long graduated, Professor. You must call me Gwenog.”

Hermione can’t quite place her face, but she knows this woman. She’s Black with dark hair eyes and dark eyes. Her hair is straightened by Sleakeazy’s, spilling down her back in a waterfall, and there’s strength to her entire body. She puts her hands on her hips, smiling.

“You’re Gwenog Jones,” Hermione gasps.

The Death Eaters all turn swiftly and even Tom seems interested.

“Captain of the Holyhead Harpies,” he murmurs. His gaze dulls when it lands on Dumbledore. “Old man.”

“Tom,” Professor Dumbledore says, delightedly. His electric blue eyes twinkle and he nods at Tom before he turns back to Horace. “ _This_ is the young man that I was telling you about. Tom, come meet Horace Slughorn. You asked after the Seeker, Harry Potter. He’s also—”

“The Duelling of the Year! I suppose you’re _involved._ O-ho, a _power_ couple. If you’ll excuse me, my dear Gwenog,” Horace Slughorn says. He’s big and round, so it takes him a moment to squeeze through the stands, but he looks enamoured with Tom from the moment that he lays his eyes on him.

Hermione turns her attention back to Gwenog Jones who still hasn’t looked away from the Pitch. She’s still considering Ginny.

“Her name?” Gwenog asks again.

“That’s Ginny Weasley!” Lavender pipes up before she can be stopped. “She’s a fifth year.”

“She’s... _excellent_ ,” Gwenog murmurs to herself. She looks down, surveying the group. “The captain, Harry Potter, he’s quite good too, but...she’s something special, isn’t she?”

“She’s a big fan. A _big_ fan,” Luna provides.

Gwenog’s mouth twitches, and she nods. “Well...I’m a big fan of her as well. Professor McGonagall, as her Head of House, do you think I might firecall you to arrange a meeting? I think that I know a few people that will be _very_ interested in her, in the future.”

Before Hermione can hear any more of that conversation, Slughorn’s voice fills the space again, booming nearly as loud as a _Sonorous_ Charm. Hermione looks over at him, wide-eyed. Slughorn is looking back at Luna, Hermione, and Lavender again.

“Wait...you are _all_ in the Duelling Club?” Slughorn asks.

“We are,” Hermione confirms with a nod.

Slughorn shakes his head. “I just...Albus, you do have a fine cohort here, don’t you? We never had such a vast amount of talent when I was still teaching, you hear me? Nothing as fine as the lot of you,” Slughorn confirms. He moves down past the Slytherins, nodding at each of them in turn. “Mr. Riddle, the Heir of Slytherin, and his lot of pureblooded heiress and heirs. Miss Lovegood, you must be related to Xenophilius, yes? Miss Brown, your father works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. And you, my dear, you’re a Gryffindor, too. Would I be correct in assuming that you cast your lot in with Mr. Potter?”

He’s talking to _her_. Hermione’s eyes widen. “Ah, yes. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“O-ho, by chance, are you related to Dagworth Granger?”

“No,” Hermione murmurs. “I’m a Muggleborn.”

(

  1. _I’m a Muggleborn._
  2. _I’m an Afro-Arab English girl._
  3. _I’m Muslimah. I am not your pureblood prize._ )



“Oh,” Slughorn murmurs. He doesn’t quite deflate, but almost. “Do tell me, dear girl, is duelling your passion? I heard your duel over the wireless, and you were quite riveting.”

“No,” Hermione says carefully. “I’m going to be an activist. Like Lily Potter.”

And suddenly, Slughorn’s eyes soften. “Ah, Lily. Your friend Harry’s mother. She was one of my favorites, you know. A right Potions Mistress.”

“Yes, well, I’m going to create a werewolf relief program. I’m trying to raise funds for it now,” Hermione says firmly. She looks up at him, challenging him to say otherwise. He seems the type. So concerned with blood and status and position. Hermione has none of those things. She has her intellect and her will. She doesn’t want any of those other things.

“That’s quite admirable, dear girl,” Slughorn says firmly.

Hermione falters because she believes him.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

Slughorn turns to the lot of them again. Before he can say anything more, there’s a sharp whistle, and everyone turns their attention back to the pitch.

Cho Chang is standing on her feet again. She may be slightly concussed, but she has a determined look on her face. The Gryffindor huddle breaks and Ginny stands there, hands on her boyishly slim hips, a wry smile on her face. She lifts her chin as if challenging Cho. Cho turns and spits blood into the sand.

“We’re back in play!” Harry roars.

As one, the team mounts their brooms and kicks off, shooting into the sky. Ravenclaw isn’t far behind.

Luna scrambles for her wand, pointing it at her throat. “ _Sonorous!_ We’re back in play, everyone! Yay, that’s quite exciting, isn’t it?”

“Let us go back to our seats then, Horace, Gwenog,” Albus says cheerfully.

Slughorn hums. He claps. “Well, I must say this was a lovely introduction made...we _must_ have a dinner party! Albus, I do think it’s time to revive the Slug Club.”


	8. MONDAY, 3:32PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione works better alone.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "A rush at the beginning  
> I get caught up, just for a minute  
> But lover, you're the one to blame  
> All that you’re doing  
> Can you hear the violence?  
> Megaphone to my chest  
> Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom  
> And make 'em all dance to it"
> 
> -The Louvre, Lorde

“Woo, I’m _exhausted_ ,” Ron groans, cracking his knuckles and shaking his hands out as he leads Hermione, Harry, and Lavender from the Transfiguration classroom. “Who knew N.E.W.T. level courses would be so difficult.”

“I knew. We _all_ knew,” Hermione retorts.

Ron rolls his eyes at her, his mouth twitching. “Yes, of course, _you_ knew, Hermione.

Lavender elbows Hermione hard in the side, hissing, “Be _nice_.”

“It really was hard today. Conjuring birds. What kind of birds would I even summon? You have to imagine it and I don’t really know many birds besides pigeons,” Harry says. “And owls. Like Hedwig. Hey, Hermione, do you think I could summon snowy owls?”

“Those are too large for a first Bird Conjuring spell. You’d have them appear deformed and traumatize our classmates?” Hermione asks, and she can’t help but be darkly amused by the thought. She smiles to herself, and looks up slyly at the others.

Ron blanches. “Blimey, Hermione, you’re terrifying,” he says, almost in awe.

“Isn’t she _just_?” Lavender says with a forced smile. From the corner of her mouth, she snarls, “That isn’t very _cute,_ Hermione.”

“Well, consider I’m not trying to be _cute_ , Lavender,” Hermione says with the same forced smile.

Lavender scoffs. “I’m trying to make some magic happen here, Mione.”

“I didn’t _ask_ you—”

“What are you two bickering about all quiet?” Harry asks curiously.

“Nothing!” Lavender and Hermione sing out together, casting looks at one another.

Harry hums. “Yes, that’s not terrifying at all,” he mutters. “Anyone up for a round of Exploding Snap?”

Hermione sees dark black hair first. She glances over her shoulder as Pansy Parkinson walks right past them. The others don’t notice, but Hermione does. Hermione can’t help but notice.

(

  1. _Lace stockings_
  2. _Bright red lips_
  3. _Pale skin and a narrow nose_
  4. _Almond eye_ s)



“Oh, _I_ am!” Ron says.

Lavender nods, wide-eyed. “I’ll play winner! And...perhaps, chess? I want to learn properly, and Ron always makes it seem fun.”

Ron blinks, his ears turning red. “Ah, it’s...well, sure, I’ll teach you, if you want.”

“Yes, of course!” Lavender rushes to say, and then, she pauses, like she’s just remembered herself. She glances over at Hermione. “Would you like to learn too?”

Hermione’s gaze follows Pansy as she turns the corner. Pansy glances over her shoulder once and winks.

“Ah, no, I already know how...I’m...gonna head off to Ancient Runes now,” Hermione says distractedly.

She doesn’t wait for anyone’s reply, veering off towards the courtyard, no matter that it’s in the opposite direction of the Ancient Runes classroom. She’s not sure why she’s going after the Slytherin, but here she is, keeping a decent distance between the pair of them, but still, following. Pansy walks into the courtyard, and stops in the middle of it, turning around sharply.

Her mouth twitches. “Knew someone was following me,” Pansy says, quietly. “Hello, Granger.”

“Parkinson. Why aren’t you going to Ancient Runes?” Hermione asks. She stops, realizing what she’s just said, and she fidgets. “Oh, sorry. I mean. Hi, Parkinson.”

Pansy laughs. “Don’t get polite on me now, Granger.”

Hermione narrows her eyes at Pansy. Pansy smirks at her but doesn’t say anything more, as if she’s waiting for Hermione to say something else snarky. Hermione sighs and crosses her arms.

“I just...saw you while I was walking to Ancient Runes. And...yeah,” she finishes lamely.

“Why do you care?” Pansy asks, waggling her eyebrows.

Hermione glares even harder. “I _don’t_ ,” she lies.

“I don’t believe you,” Pansy sings, and finally, she takes a step towards Hermione. Then, another. Then, another, until she’s right there, and Hermione has to tilt her chin back to look up into Pansy’s face and at her impish smile.

“We’re...we’re still good for Friday? For the tutoring?” Hermione asks.

Pansy nods once. Hermione inspects her to make fun of her for asking again. After all, last Friday wasn’t all that long ago. And here, Hermione’s asking all over again, as if either of them could forget. Or maybe Pansy _has_ forgotten, Hermione doesn’t really know how her mind works. There’s also the possibility that Pansy has a conflict—

“You think very loudly,” Pansy says quietly. Her smile softens at the edges. “We’re still good for Friday.”

Hermione swallows down the giddiness and nods once. “Good. Great,” she says, and then, she turns on her heels, because she’s intrigued, not stupid, and she refuses to be late to class for Pansy _Parkinson_.

She’s promptly surprised when Pansy falls into step with her.

“So...you’re going?” Hermione asks.

Pansy shrugs. “I never said I wasn’t.”

“ _Right._ ”

And they walk together. They don’t exactly rush, but Hermione keeps her steps quick, and Pansy stays a-pace with her. They don’t talk either, and Hermione doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She doesn’t feel that it’s particularly awkward. When they reach the Ancient Runes classroom, she opens the door for Pansy and Pansy slides in and into her usual seat at the very back of the class.

Hermione goes towards the front and center, just near the board. She reaches in her bag, pulling out her bound parchment notebook, an inkwell, and a quill.

Professor Babbling looks up from her desk, surprised.

“Ah, you’re here, Miss Granger,” she remarks.

“Why wouldn’t I be, Professor?” Hermione asks with a frown.

Professor Babbling hesitates. “You weren’t _late,_ just later than typical. Ah, no matter, let us begin!” Professor Babbling says, waving her concerns away.

Hermione frowns to herself. _Was she late_? She wasn’t. But, maybe Professor Babbling had just gotten used to her always being at least ten minutes early. After all, the Transfiguration classroom isn’t _all_ that far from the Ancient Rune classroom.

“As you know, this year, instead of a final exam, you will complete an end-of-year project. This will assess your grasp of the knowledge just as well as an exam would. This year, you will select a rune alphabet, a specific rune text, and evaluate how you can change it to construct theoretical spells. This will involve researching past magical theoretical structures. I expect the work to be well constructed and well-presented,” Professor Babbling announces. “You will work with _one_ other person.”

The class receives the news with varying reactions. Hermione rolls her eyes at those that complain or groan; it’s not like they didn’t _know_. If they had paid attention before the Easter break, they would _know_ that Professor Babbling has been planning a group project for them for ages. Some students are already partnering up.

Hermione doesn’t make a move to look for a partner. She’s always worked best alone. There weren’t many people that could meet her expectations of hard work.

Professor Babbling grabs a shabby piece of parchment and sets it down on Hermione’s desk.

“I’ll be passing around the parchment. Write your name and the name of your partner. We’ll do weekly check-ins at the beginning of each Wednesday class to determine where you are, starting next week,” Professor Babbling declares.

Hermione nods and goes to hand the parchment off.

“What are you doing, Hermione?” Professor Babbling murmurs.

Hermione pauses. “Oh, I...I thought I’d do mine alone. I don’t mind, really, Professor,” Hermione insists. She can already imagine how much she can accomplish alone. She has so many ideas. There’s the Phoenician rune alphabet, the traditional Norse, and the one she _wants_ to do—Nabataean.

Nabataean had become _Arabic_. Her mother’s language. Her father’s language. _Her_ language.

“Oh. _No,_ Hermione, why would you?” Professor Babbling says with a tiny smile. “Why do it alone when you already have a partner? In _Pansy._ ”

Hermione looks over her shoulder.

Pansy sits in the very back of the classroom. Her lips curl into a smile and she wiggles her fingers in greeting.

Hermione faces forward _._

She very carefully scrawls _Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson_ across the top.

Then, she scowls.


	9. TUESDAY, 12:09 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Lavender is busy meddling again.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Daylight  
> I wake up feeling like you won't play right  
> I used to know, but now that shit don't feel right  
> It made me put away my pride  
> So long  
> You made a nigga wait for some, so long  
> You make it hard for boy like that to go on  
> I'm wishing I could make this mine, oh"
> 
> -Redbone, Childish Gambino

“The weather is going to be very good this weekend,” Luna declares as she sits down at the lunch table.

“And you know how? Are you a seer now?” Ron asks as he surveys the food at the table. He selects the shepherd's pie. He heaps a spoonful onto his plate, and they glances across the table at Hermione. “I know you like shepherd’s pie. Do you want?”

Hermione’s mouth waters, but she refrains. Instead, she shakes her head.

Harry frowns at her. “What’s up? Not going to eat?” he asks, worried, like this is a pattern for her. She smiles softly at him.

“Not today. I’m fasting,” Hermione says firmly.

“Hermione…” Lavender warns, suddenly worried.

Hermione shakes her head. She pauses, weighing the words on her tongue. She doesn’t know why she’d decided this morning that she was going to fast. She doesn’t always. She almost never does. But, today, she feels something in her bones that make her want to. It’s Ramadan. She feels close to her parents today. She feels close to Allah too.

“It’s a religious thing,” Hermione says.

Lavender’s brow furrows and she looks like she wants to ask, but then seems to think better of it. She nods and returns her gaze to Luna. “Now, _how_ do you know it’ll be nice this weekend?”

“The Quibbler’s advance weekend copy,” Luna says quite seriously. She lays out the advance copy of her father’s paper, the front page nearly blank except for the tiny box with the weather report. “He’s left the front page blank in case of any _front_ page news. Like perhaps a new discovery. They say they’re on the _edge_ of establishing evidence of the heliopaths.”

“Who is ‘they’?” Ron deadpans.

Luna ignores him. She points at the weather report. Hermione has known Luna long enough now to not argue with her about the Quibbler, and she does have to admit that it’s always scarily accurate. She wonders if there’s a spell for that, checking the weather. She leans across the table to look at it and nod.

“Sunny. It’ll finally stop raining then. That’s good,” Hermione says. She still frowns, thinking about the cold on and off drizzle during the Quidditch game. She’d had to do her hair that night when she wasn’t due for a wash for another four days.

“It’s going to be a _big_ weekend, then,” Lavender declares with a grin.

“How so?” Ginny asks.

Lavender leans forward, waggling her eyebrows. “The first sunny weekend in months? I think _love_ will be in the _air_. I bet Madame Puddifoot's is going to be _packed_.”

Harry sneers at the very thought. “Merlin, Madame Puddifoot's is horrifying. So pink. It’s for fourth years going on their first date, isn’t it?”

Lavender glares. “Well, we can’t all have our first date in a fancy restaurant in Diagon Alley, can we, Harry?” she snaps.

Hermione hides her smile behind her hand. Clearly, Harry touched a nerve.

“Well, I didn’t—” Harry protests.

Lavender shakes her head _._

“ _You_ have a very devoted boyfriend, so please do shut up,” Lavender says firmly. “I’m not taking comments from those in happy relationships. That means you too, Ginny.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Ginny complains, and Lavender sticks her tongue out playfully.

Usually, Hermione would laugh, but she’s watching Harry. Harry blinks at Lavender’s words, and his brow slowly creases as he mouths her condemnation back to himself. Hermione frowns, leaning forward.

“Habibi?” she asks.

Harry jumps and shakes his head. He very deliberately shifts, turning back into the conversation, and Hermione wants to _push._ She needs to know that Harry is okay, because suddenly, he seems slightly less than okay.

“—Mione.”

Hermione jumps, turning towards Ginny. Ginny isn’t even looking at her, instead grinning over at her older brother. Ron’s face is bright red and consistently getting brighter. Hermione leans forward, intrigued by the sudden turn of events.

“What was that?” Hermione asks.

Ginny grins. “I _said,_ that _you_ and my brother might be proof of Lavender’s words.”

And Hermione knows Ginny is only _teasing_. She’s only repeating that stupid, misogynistic trope that boys that pull on girl’s pigtails just really fancy them. But, Hermione knows that hse and Ron aren’t like that, no matter how much Lavender and Ginny believe it.

So, she rolls her eyes, and turns to Lavender, raising an eyebrow. Lavender must have clued Ginny in on her less than secret plan that Hermione has given very little thought to.

But, Lavender is looking down at her plate, her face twisting through a number of expressions. She refuses to look up from her plate, across at Ron as she frowns like she’s working through something. And then, Lavender looks up and smiles brightly at Ron before tilting her head towards Hermione. She lifts her fork to her mouth, swallows the greens hanging off the tines.

“Maybe they are,” Lavender says, and she sounds far too satisfied for it to be true.


	10. THURSDAY, 2:02PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione does not understand people half as well as she thinks she does.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "'Cause you know the truth hurts, but secrets kill  
> Can't help thinkin' that I love it still  
> Still here, there must be something real  
> 'Cause you know the good die young  
> But so did this, and so it must be better than I think it is  
> Gimme those eyes, it's easy to forgive"
> 
> -Hopeless, Halsey

Hermione shouldn’t find it surprising that Tom Riddle is standing outside of the Charms classroom, waiting for Harry, but she does, in fact, find it surprising. He’s a far more attentive boyfriend than Hermione would ever think him to be. Harry follows her out of the Charms classroom and simply beams, and Hermione is rather glad, for once, that she was wrong.

“Hey, killer,” he greets.

“Hello to you too, darling,” Tom greets and he tosses an arm around Harry’s shoulders, reeling him in possessively as they lead the pack.

Hermione rolls her eyes. Because she can’t really help herself. She glances behind her shoulder and frowns at Ron. “Where’s Lavender?”

“She’s hanging back to speak to Parvati. They’re just catching up,” Ron says, and for some reason, he looks vaguely nervous. Hermione purses her lips and turns back around, marching towards the courtyard. She has thirty minutes to kill before Arithmancy. She has the time.

She can probably brainstorm a proper plan to dictate to Pansy during their first tutoring session.

“Hey, Hermione!”

Hermione stops in the archway to the courtyard and she sighs, staring longingly for the spot where Tom and Harry have rooted in. Harry is sitting on the window sill, Tom standing behind him. The dry patch of grass at the base is shaded. It looks absolutely lovely. Hermione would sit there and work all day, if she could.

“Yes, Ron?” she asks, turning to look at him, giving him her full attention, because while she wants to work, Ron _is_ her friend, and he sounds vaguely worried.

“What Lavender was saying...this weekend...it’ll be nice, won’t it?” Ron asks.

Hermione’s mouth twitches. “Yes, I expect it will be. I would never admit this to Luna, but while the Quibbler isn’t a... _credible_ source of news, I do think the weather report is always spot on.”

Ron nods in agreement. “Right. Well, it’ll be fun going into Hogsmeade. There are a few things I’d like to get from Honeydukes.”

“Oh, yes, I’d like to go to a few stores. Tomes and Scrolls, Scrivenshaft’s, and maybe The Magic Neep,” Hermione lists. Yes, she does have a few errands to run.

“Why The Magic Neep?” Ron asks.

“I need dates,” Hermione says simply. She doesn’t expand. She doesn’t think explaining Ramadan will translate well. Ron means well, but he doesn’t really know much about Muggles or religions or anything of the sort.

“Right, well. You plan on running your errands alone?” Ron asks gruffly. He won’t make eye contact with her.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione says with a frown. She’s sure she can convince the other to pop into at least _three_ stores with her, though she expects she’ll get a few complaints if she doesn’t give in and accompany them to Gladrags or Zonko’s.

Ron looks relieved.

“Do you...think maybe...you’re going to Hogsmeade with me, yeah?” Ron asks.

Hermione raises an eyebrow. _Is this really why Ron pulled her to the side?_

“Well, of course. It’ll be just as normal, won’t it?” Hermione asks.

Ron pauses, his brow furrowing. “I mean...not quite?” he suggests.

Hermione shakes her head, because she truly doesn’t understand boys at all. They never say what they mean, speaking in circles. Hermione is direct, and prefers direct people. Maybe that’s why she’s never really understood Ron at all.

“Well, the answer is yes, anyway,” Hermione says in a rush. She doesn’t want to spend all day debating the semantics of a weekend day in Hogsmeade. “ _Tempus._ ” She sighs when she realizes that time is running short. “I have to get to Arithmancy. And you have Quidditch practice, don’t you?”

“You know I have practice?” Ron asks.

Hermione just frowns at him and very carefully doesn’t remind him that they are best friends with the captain of the team. She tilts her head, considering, until Ron shakes his head and a dopish smile spreads across his face. He takes a step back and then another, refusing to turn around like he doesn’t want to look away from her. He keeps walking backward until his shoulder bumps into the arch.

“See you at dinner,” Ron says.

“See you at dinner,” Hermione agrees.

“I...er, I’ll see you at practice, Harry. I’m going to find Gin,” Ron says in a rush. He’s fighting a smile as he walks away, head ducked low, and Hermione watches him, a slight frown on her face.

She shrugs and turns back to the perch on the wall. Harry is sitting on the very edge, his bag hanging loosely from his bag. He’s properly distracted by Tom standing between his legs, kissing him long and slow. Hermione grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. They don’t even bother to break apart. Hermione rolls her eyes.

“When will you be done with practice?” she asks loudly. They don’t stop. “ _Quidditch_ practice!”

Harry jumps and pulls back with a wet sound. He blinks long and slow, like he’s just not processing her words. He catches up eventually.

“Oh, not that long. We’ll be done by four-thirty,” Harry says.

Hermione nods. She’ll be done with Arithmancy by four. She can go watch the end of their practice and catch up on some reading in the meantime. She expects Lavender will join her, probably to beg for help with her Arithmancy problem set. If she shows up, then she and Hermione can plan their itinerary for the Hogsmeade weekend.

Allah knows that Ron can’t plan a group outing.

“Are you two going on a date this weekend? Or will you be joining us?” Hermione asks.

Harry pauses in the middle of packing up his things. He frowns down at his bag for a moment, before he looks up at Tom, giving him a look. Tom presses his lips together, looking endlessly amused about something. He glances at Hermione slyly but he doesn’t say anything.

Hermione frowns. “What?” she asks. “Ron suggested that we go to Hogsmeade this weekend, since it’ll be so nice.”

“Hermione...what did Ron say?” Harry asks slowly.

“He wanted to know I was going to Hogsmeade with you all,” Hermione relays back carefully, because Harry is being rather slow today. She folds her arms over her chest, raises an eyebrow.

“Did he says ‘all of us’ or did he say ‘ _me’_?” Harry asks.

Hermione stops.

_Do you...think maybe...you’re going to Hogsmeade with me, yeah?_

“Me...he said…‘ _me’_ ,” Hermione whispers, voice cracking.

“Congratulations, Granger. You’ve just agreed to a date,” Tom drawls. He looks down at Harry, taps his chin, dragging his head up. Harry leans up, giving him a distracted peck that Tom doesn’t look satisfied with.

Hermione feels like she’s at the end of a long wind tunnel as she stares at Tom and Harry as they kiss. It’s long and slow and radiates with fractured love. Tom pulls back and saunters off without a look backward. Hermione swallows.

“Did you really...did you really not get it?” Harry asks quietly.

Hermione opens her mouth to speak, trying to find the words, but she can’t. The world is carefully, purposefully, blank. So, she shakes her head.

“Do you not... _want_ to go on a date with Ron?” Harry asks.

Hermione turns to him, and it’s on the tip of her tongue. A list of reasons:

_(_

  1. _harry, i’m a lesbian._
  2. _harry, i don’t want him._
  3. _harry, I_ love _Lavender)_



Except.

Except, the words don’t come. The words can’t come.

And Hermione feels _hopeless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once more, I'm late. Sorry, this stay-at-home/quarantine business is making me lose time almost. I don't even know what's going on lol.


	11. FRIDAY, 4:00PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Hermione is not stupid.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Saw your face, heard your name, gotta get with you  
> Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new  
> Isn't this why we came? Gotta get with you  
> Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new  
> Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new"
> 
> -Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko

Just like last week, Pansy is  _ exactly  _ on time.

Unlike last week, Hermione is alone. She sits at the same table, Ancient Runes textbooks spread out around her. She has the current book opened to the first chapter because she’s not quite sure when Pansy stopped coming to school. She thinks that this might have been something she probably should’ve noticed.

Pansy arrives at the table and she drops her very nice bag onto the table. Hermione admires it for a moment—it looks like butter-soft leather, made from calf, and it practically smells expensive—as she steels herself. When she looks up at Pansy, she feels like something punches her in the stomach, some sort of magic, but she doesn’t think she shows it on her face.

Pansy slides into the seat across from her with a sly, “Granger.”

“Parkinson.”

Pansy drums her fingers on the wood, her bright red lipstick making her look even paler. There’s a furrow between her brows today like she’s perpetually worried. Hermione might like to smooth it out— _ no _ , Pansy Parkinson is not her friend. She does not want to do that.

“So, what’s on the schedule today,  _ Professor _ ?” Pansy drawls out, almost lascivious, and Hermione is grateful that she’s not any lighter because heat flushes through her face, spreading towards her ears.

Even still, Pansy smirks at her like she knows what that title does to Hermione.

“I’m not exactly sure what you’ve missed in Ancient Runes…” Hermione trails off.

Pansy leans back in her chair, sighing. “I was gone from November until the end of February.”

So, four months.

It’s a  _ long  _ time to be gone.

“Okay, so you missed our units on Rongorongo and Rok runes,” Hermione says in short clipped words. She leans over her books and flips to the right pages before she goes to her notes. She flips it around and presents them to Pansy proudly. She takes  _ extremely  _ detailed notes.

Pansy huffs out a laugh and looks down. “Is this just a condensed form of the textbook?” she asks as she gingerly flips through the pages.

“ _ No _ ,” Hermione snaps. She hesitates and then adds, “There are lecture notes too. This is my notebook for this unit. You may borrow it until we’re done going over the notes and finish our—”

“So, Granger, you don’t like me?”

“I—I don’t  _ not  _ like you,” Hermione sputters.

Pansy grins. “What is it? My blatant disregard for rules? My absence from school? Or because I’m simply...what was it? Wasting your time?”

Hermione swallows.

“I... _ apologized  _ for that,” Hermione insists.

Pansy laughs. “I know. Just...you don’t seem to like me very much. That doesn’t seem conducive to a good tutor-student relationship, does it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You’re friends with that girl. Brown. She doesn’t seem your...type.” Pansy licks her teeth at that like she knows something about Hermione, and Hermione stiffens, narrowing her eyes at her. Pansy laughs to herself, shaking her head. “So, what about us? Can  _ we  _ be friends?”

“Do you want to be?” Hermione deadpans.

Pansy rears back. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re a Slytherin. I’m a Gryffindor. You’re a pureblood. I’m a Muggleborn,” Hermione lists. “I’m Afro-Arab—”

“I’m half-Japanese,” Pansy interrupts. Hermione stares at her. Pansy stares back, a slow grin spreading across her face. “I’m sorry, I thought we were just establishing facts.”

Hermione scoffs. “I was establishing our differences.”

Pansy hums. “Reasons not to like me, then? Except for the half-Japanese thing, I’m sure,” Pansy says. She sighs and purses her lips. “Let’s get this out of the way. You think I’m a bigot.”

“Well, you haven’t ever really presented yourself as anything else. Look at who you hang out with,” Hermione says pointedly. She knows that Malfoy and Pansy are close. She knows that she hangs out with Greengrass who has never said anything directly, but whose nose wrinkles when Hermione accidentally steps too close during prefect meetings.

Pansy inclines her head. “Yeah. But, I've changed. New lease on life and all that.”

“Meaning?” Hermione asks.

Pansy grins. “I’m sorry, Granger, you’ll have to reach level 5 to reach  _ my  _ tragic backstory.”

Hermione hesitates. “That’s...level 5?”

“Isn’t that a Muggle saying? Having to do with...video games?” Pansy asks.

“Yes, but…”  _ why do you know Muggle pop culture references?  _ Hermione doesn’t ask.

Pansy laughs. “I’m a deep well, Granger. I even know about the Tube and  _ electricity _ .”

Hermione hums, because Pansy Parkinson is turning out to be  _ quite  _ unexpected. She sits back in her chair and swallows. “I...misjudged you, then. I’m sorry about that again.”

Pansy sobers and nods.

“And I’m sorry for what I used to be. You didn’t misjudge me. I was awful. But, I’m all grown up now, Hermione Granger,” Pansy says softly. And then, she looks Hermione in the face, long and penetrating. “And so are you.”

Hermione swallows hard, and looks down at her notes.

She flexes her hand into a fist and then out, and then she reaches for her quill, tapping on it. “Let’s start with the Rongorongo.”

It’s easy slipping into teaching mode. She sits up straighter and begins lecturing, going through the first weeks of lessons that Pansy missed. She’s meticulous and pauses when Pansy has questions. She answers them to the best of her ability, and Pansy nods and doesn’t make her repeat herself like Ron or Harry might’ve if she were explaining Transfiguration. Pansy is smart. That’s not to say Ron and Harry aren’t smart, because they are. They’re just smart in different ways.

Pansy is intelligent, and seems to actually care about what she’s learning.

She’s working through a translation set before she stops and looks up at Hermione with glowing eyes.

“You know, I used to want to be a cursebreaker,” Pansy says.

Hermione blinks. “Ah, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why ‘used to’?”

Pansy shrugs with one shoulder and she leans over the table to peer at Hermione’s work. “It’s not really...what my family has in mind. And my mother, she’s worried that I can’t do it.”

“Well, you clearly...grasp the material,” Hermione says, waving her hand. “You’re  _ not  _ stupid, Pansy.”

Pansy grins. Hermione thinks that if she were standing, she’d courtesy.

“Why,  _ thank  _ you, Miss Granger,” she drawls.

“Hermione.”

Pansy’s eyes widen. “Hermione?”

Hermione bites her bottom lip and looks down, unable to look her in the eye. “Well, I’ll be tutoring you for presumably the future and...we’re partners for our final project too. I reckon we should call each other by our proper names. So, I’m Hermione, and you’re…”

“Pansy,” she says with a softened smile. It’s warm and even still, Hermione feels chills run down her arms. “You’re not what I expected, Hermione.”

And then Pansy is up on her knees on her chair, reaching across and she pinches a stray curl from Hermione’s bun. She tugs lightly on the coil and tucks it behind Hermione’s hair. Hermione’s freezes in her chest.

“I—”

“It was just...distracting…” Pansy murmurs, and her eyes narrow as she stares at Hermione. She gnaws on her bottom red lip, and suddenly, she looks uncertain, more uncertain than she has in any of the times that she and Hermione had spoken before.

If Hermione were stupid, she’d be thinking that Pansy might try to kiss her.

But, Hermione is  _ not  _ stupid, that’s a stupid idea, it’s so stupid, Pansy couldn’t possibly—her dark eyes flicker down, and Hermione is not stupid, so Pansy couldn’t possibly be looking at her mouth—

“Pansy, is this where you’ve been?”

Pansy falls back into her seat with a heavy thud, and her face changes. There’s something less... _ alive _ about her eyes, even as her smile widens. She stands to her feet, flipping her book shut.

Hermione lowers her eyes as Draco Malfoy glides from the opening between the bookshelves and bends down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Pansy’s head. He’s softer too, just for a moment, and then he catches a glimpse of Hermione.

Malfoy’s expression shutters and he reaches down, lacing his fingers through Pansy’s.

“What are you doing with the Mudblood?” he asks coldly.

Hermione doesn’t flinch, staring Malfoy in the face.

Pansy’s brow furrows. “Draco, darling,  _ don’t _ use that word,” she warns, but her voice is soft and crackling. She sounds off.  _ Ill. _

“Why? It’s what she is,” Malfoy says, lifting his chin, staring at Hermione coldly.

Hermione takes a deep breath and exhales.

She pushes away the hurt.

Hermione knew she wasn’t stupid. “I have somewhere to be.” She begins to pack her things methodically, ignores the way that Crabbe and Goyle loom in the shadows of the bookshelves, awaiting orders from their leader.

Malfoy is mumbling to Pansy, his big hands cupping her jaw. Pansy takes it, letting him tilt her head back and forth. She tolerates the back of his hand pressed to her forehead.

“See you in class, Parkinson,” Hermione says sharply.

Pansy jerks from Malfoy’s hands and turns to her. “Hermione—” she starts, and then, she cuts herself off, looking down and away.

Hermione knew she wasn’t  _ fucking  _ stupid.


	12. SATURDAY, 2:27PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and ron go on a date.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Rule number one, is that you gotta have fun  
> But baby when you're done, you gotta be the first to run  
> Rule number two, just don't get attached to  
> Somebody you could lose  
> So le-let me tell you"
> 
> -How To Be A Heartbreak, MARINA

Hermione tugs on the ends of her braid, squirming as she glances down at her pocket watch. It’s nearly two-thirty. Ron had warned her that he’d meet her by the gates to Hogwarts by two-thirty. She’d already watched all of her friends parade through the gates: first, Luna and Lavender who looked at her with quite different expressions. Lavender had waggled her eyebrows. Luna had given her the saddest smile.

Then, it had been Ginny, arms hooked with Zabini. She was talking wildly, probably about the two letters she’d received over breakfast. One had been sent to every member of the Defence Club—an invitation to a dinner with the Slug Club for next weekend. The other had been sent to Ginny alone—a missive from one Gwenog Jones that spoke to how much Jones looked forward to meeting with Ginny.

Then, it had been Harry and Tom, surrounded by Tom’s usual gang of thugs, or the Death Eaters as they preferred to be called. Harry had seen her, offered her a weak smile and jerked his head back towards the castle, as if he were alerting her to Ron’s imminent arrival. Hermione had nodded and taken the chance to simply observe the couple.

They really were beautifully threatening from the outside. She could understand why people could be potentially terrified.

And then, finally, he’s here.

Ron stands awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey,” Hermione whispers.

“You look amazing...in blue,” Ron says, waving his hand at Hermione’s oversized blue sweater.

It’s chilly for May.

“Oh, I do?” Hermione asks, unexpectedly in a teasing mode.

Ron’s ears turned pinker, and Hermione laughs to herself, shaking her head. She looks down at her feet.

_ This is a date,  _ she reminds herself. For some reason, she doesn’t feel as foreboding about it as she had only hours ago. Now, she’s just...here. In the presence of her friend.

“So, where are we off to?” Hermione asks.

Ron perks up. “I know that you had errands to run…”

“Yes, I do! But, we can keep it to two shops each? I’m sure you want to go to Honeydukes and Zonko’s,” Hermione says kindly.

Ron hums. “Yeah, one more time. I think Fred and George are closing the deal on Zonko’s next week, and there are a few things I’d like to buy before they shutter them. And then, we can meet the others at the Three Broomsticks after. Well, we’re off then!”

He doesn’t reach for her hand. She appreciates it.

They leave the grounds of Hogwarts in a strangely comfortable silence, just existing next to each other as they follow the few stragglers that are going to Hogsmeade later in the day.

“You never said where you wanted to go,” Ron says.

“Oh, right. Well, the greengrocer, of course. And...Tomes and Scrolls. There are a few books that I’d like to pick up. I’ve already checked them out from the library, but I’d like them for my own personal collection,” Hermione says, and this is comfortable. She can talk about books until the end of time. It’s her  _ favorite  _ thing to talk about. “Professor Lupin recommended them to me last week over dinner. I’ve been working with him on my werewolf relief fund.”

Ron nods. “Oh, right. That. It’s...what you’re doing, Hermione...it’s a really great thing,” he says earnestly and Hermione smiles up at him.

“Thanks.”

He looks at her from under his pale eyelashes and says, “You...know what you want to be. What you want to do. I admire that.”

Hermione nods. “What...do you want to be? A Keeper?”

“No, no,” Ron says, shaking his head. “You know...my brothers have always just...fallen into what they want to do. Same with Ginny. It’s harder for me. I’m not good enough to go pro. But, maybe...I’ve thought of being an Auror, you know?”

Hermione looks up at him. Ron is a good duellist. He’s fair and kind, and has a strong sense of justice.

“I think you’d make an excellent Auror,” Hermione declares.

Ron blinks, shocked. He grins at her, bewildered. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t usually say things I don’t mean.”

Ron laughs to himself. “I...you’re the first person I’ve really told.”

“Well, I’m honored.”

From there, it’s so easy.

Hermione is shocked by how easy it is. They walk into Hogsmeade together, going back and forth about things that matter, and things that don’t. They go into Honeydukes first, picking out their favorite candies, and some for the others too.

In her mind, she constructs a list about Ronald Weasley, and she thinks he’s doing the same; he nods with each word, she speaks, as if he’s cataloguing it to recall later.

_ (Things Ron Weasley Tells Her: _

  1. _Ron’s first chess set was a gift from his grandfather._
  2. _For his sixth birthday, his father saved up wages for months to take him to his first Quidditch game. It was the Chudley Cannons, and they sat in the back of the stadium, but he’s never forgotten._
  3. _He once ate an Acid Pop on a dare from Fred and George. It burned a hole in his tongue._
  4. _The greatest day of his life was the day he was Sorted.)_



And then, there are things that he doesn’t say that she hears him say anyway. She hears them as they waltz through Tomes and Scrolls and she points to the books that are too high for her to reach. He plucks them off the shelf and passes each to her, as they never stop talking.

_ (Things Ron Weasley Doesn’t Say Aloud But Means All The Same: _

  1. _He used to be jealous of Harry until he realized that there was nothing to be jealous about._
  2. _He used to resent his older brothers; he’s working hard on stopping that._
  3. _He wants to do something important._
  4. _He wants to be someone’s important person._
  5. _He feels deeply for one Lavender Brown.)_



That last thing, he tries to hide a number of times. Whenever the Defence Squad comes up in conversation, he chokes on her name, and there’s a fondness that enters his eyes. Hermione swallows hard, because she understands that.

As they walk into the greengrocer, Hermione looks around. She doesn’t grab a basket. Instead, she stops at the cashier and asks, “Do you have dates?”

“By the other vegetation. The edible kind, of course,” the cashier cackles. She’s an older woman, a teased mess of grey hair atop her head, and she’s missing three teeth. She looks like what Hermione might’ve imagined a witch to look like when she was just a child.

Hermione nods her thanks and leads Ron to the back. She looks around and sighs when she finds a small basket of dates. They’re fresh—no preservation charm on them. That’s good. She’s wants them as clean and untouched as possible.

She goes up to the front again and pulls out a single Galleon. She receives a Sickle back and a, “Do you want a preservation charm on that, dearie?”

“No thanks,” Hermione says firmly. She looks up at Ron. “Zonko’s now?”

“Um, sure,” Ron says, and he has that look on his face that means he’s thinking about something.

Hermione patiently waits for him to ask.

“What are the dates for?” he asks.

“I...need them to break my fast. When I  _ do  _ fast. Three dates and water,” Hermione says firmly.

Ron nods, but he still looks confused.

“So...sometimes, you fast, and sometimes, you don’t,” Ron says.

Hermione blinks in surprise, because she didn’t know Ron had even noticed.

“Um...yes,” she says quietly. “I’m...sorta participating in Ramadan.”

“What’s...Ramadan?” Ron asks.

Hermione stares at him for a long moment. She bites her bottom lip. She doesn’t know how to explain it, this deep profound month. She doesn’t know how to explain her history, her culture, her family to this boy who is so different. She hadn’t really chosen Ron as a friend.

Harry had just chosen the both of them, and Hermione and Ron’s bond had grown.

But, not really. Not truly.

Except, he wants to know her.

And Hermione feels  _ seen. _

“I’m Muslim,” Hermione says. She declares it with her chest. It feels  _ good _ . “My religion is called Islam. We follow Allah  _ subhanahu wa taʿālā _ , and the final Prophet, Muhammad  _ alayhi s-salām _ . There were many prophets, but he was the last. He sent an angel to his Prophet and revealed the holy words of the Quran. Our holy text.”

Ron stares at her, wide-eyed. She cringes, waiting for his words, but he reaches out, fingers brushing against the inside of her wrists.

“So…you believe in that?” Ron asks.

“Yes,” she says, firmly, because even after all of this—finding out she’s a witch—she still believes in it. Her parents do too. She was given a gift by Allah, a glorious gift and a purpose. She thinks that she’s starting to realize what it is.

“And Ramadan?”

“Ramadan is the month that commemorates the first revelation of Muhammad  _ alayhi s-salām.  _ It’s an important holy month. We fast and we pray and we reflect, and we try to be good people. Better people,” Hermione says, and she doesn’t realize that she’s trying to convince like she used to try to convince some of the kids from primary until she’s finished.

And yet, Ron still doesn’t resist. He doesn’t cringe. He nods, very seriously, absorbing her words.

“It sounds nice. I would be starving,” Ron says.

Hermione huffs out a tiny laugh.

“Yeah, I’m usually starving too. But, we use the time to reflect and we do as the Prophet did,” Hermione says. “We follow his example.”

“What’s that you say at the end, there? Ala—” Ron begins.

“ _ Alayhi s-salām  _ is Arabic for ‘peace be upon him’. My parents are Moroccan and Egyptian. In my home, we speak Arabic. Or at least, they speak Arabic and  _ I  _ speak English. Or sometimes...well, it’s complicated. They speak Arabic at home because it’s their home and people don’t like when they speak Arabic outside sometimes,” Hermione explains.

“But—”

“It’s really weird Muggle…” Hermione trails off, because she doesn’t know how to explain Islamophobia to a pureblood wizard, except...she kinda does. “So, some people don’t like that we practice Islam. They think it’s wrong. They call us terrorists. But, we’re not. We just practice our religion. It’s like...how some purebloods don’t like Muggleborns for just being around and existing. They think we’re trying to get rid of their culture, but we’re not. We just want to exist in the same space.”

“That’s stupid. I can’t believe you have to deal with idiots like Malfoy in the Muggle world too,” Ron mutters, rolling his eyes.

Hermione smiles. “Yeah, it’s pretty stupid,” she sighs. “But, I’ve been dealing with it my entire life.”

“You  _ really  _ shouldn’t have to,” Ron insists. He hums. “But, they don’t ever let you forget it, do they? Like, it’s not the same. But, being constantly reminded that you’re...poor, that you’re trash because you can’t afford new things and shit. It’s just... _ fuck. _ ”

Hermione’s heart softens.

“I...yeah, they don’t ever let you forget,” she whispers.

Ron looks up sharply. He says, “You’re really easy to talk to.”

Hermione looks up at him with wide eyes.

“People don’t often say that,” Hermione says.

“Why?” Ron asks.

“I’m...too logical. Too precise. People think that because I try to solve their problems, I’m callous or cold. I turn everything into something solvable. It’s not very endearing,” Hermione says with a shrug, and she’s made peace with that. It doesn’t bother anymore.

“I like it. You’re kind. You want to make sure everyone is happy. You want everyone to be okay. That’s why you try to solve everything. And you’re a good listener, and you’re just...very easy to talk to,” Ron admits, and he looks shaken by that admission. He frowns to himself as they walk down the street to Zonko’s. “Lavender...it used to be hard to talk to her. She’s so…”

“Much,” Hermione whispers.

Lavender is too much. Lavender is all-consuming.

Ron looks at her with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Ron whispers. He frowns to himself. “Hey...let’s skip Zonko’s. Let’s just go to the Three Broomsticks.”

Hermione smiles. “Sounds good to me.”

This time, she hooks her arm through his. Ron grins.


	13. MONDAY, 7:47AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and lavender try to unpack the 'date'.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Attention, all you niggas, all you bitches  
> Sit back and relax your mind, just ride, just ride  
> Sit back and relax, you'll find just why, just why  
> Sit back, relax, just ease your mind, just ride  
> Ride, ride, ride, ride  
> You are now watching MADtv"
> 
> -Doves in the Wind, SZA (Feat. Kendrick Lamar)

Hermione is in the bathroom mirror when two arms wrap around her waist and a chin hooks over her shoulder. Hermione spits her toothpaste into the sink, and doesn’t have to look into the mirror to know that it’s Lavender.

She looks anyway and sighs.

“Good morning, Lavender.”

“Good  _ morning,  _ Hermione Granger,” Lavender says with a grin.

Hermione feels a flash of pleasure as Lavender tightens her arms for just a moment before she unravels herself from around Hermione. Lavender slots in the space between Hermione’s sink and the sink next to her. She leans forward, lazily.

“So…” she drawls.

Hermione hums. “So?” she retorts, and then she continues brushing her teeth—she has seventeen seconds left. She’s  _ extremely  _ meticulous about her teeth. She has to be with her dentist parents.

“So, Ron and you, huh? Came in  _ together _ …” Lavender drawls.

Hermione spits and rinses her mouth. She grabs her floss and makes it her business to floss between each tooth, ignoring Lavender’s rising excitement and impatience. She’s silent long enough for Lavender’s impatience to transform into something that looks a little like worry. Hermione finishes and discards her floss.

“I have to get ready for the day. Let me just grab my tie and my bag and we can walk to breakfast,” Hermione says.

Lavender groans, following after her.

“Come  _ on _ ...how was your date?” Lavender coos as Hermione stalks back into the dorm-proper. She bends down, searching for a clean tie. It was laundry day for the house-elves yesterday, so she has a plethora of clean ones.

Parvati looks up from her mini-vanity, where she’s painstakingly applying eyeliner. She draws a haphazard line across her eyelid in her shock.

“You went on a  _ date,  _ yesterday?” Parvati asks.

Lavender looks at Hermione apologetically. “Um…”

“Yes, I did,” Hermione says coolly.

“With  _ who _ ?” Parvati spits, like she can’t imagine Hermione  _ ever  _ going on a date, let alone anyone wanting to go with her. She seems to realize her tone, because her expression transitions to something vaguely embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just...it’s so surprising. You’re always so  _ studious _ .”

Lavender glances over at Hermione for permission. Hermione nods once, looping her tie in once. She tucks her shirt into her skirt, adjusts her socks, and slips into her loafers.

Lavender stands straighter. “I’ll have you know that she went on a date with  _ Ron.” _

Parvati’s eyebrows shoot up even higher. “Wait, really? But you—”

“Come on, Hermione,” Lavender says, lacing her fingers with Hermione’s. Hermione raises an eyebrow, but allows it. She lets Lavender tug her out of the dorm, ignoring the looks that Parvati and Fay Dunbar are throwing at them as they leave the dorm. Lavender turns to look at Hermione with wide eyes. “I’m  _ sorry,  _ I didn’t know she was—”

“It’s fine,” Hermione interrupts, shaking her head. “I don’t care what Parvati thinks.”

It’s a lie. But, Hermione’s fine with that.

They move through the Common Room quickly; they’ll meet the others at breakfast.

“So, how was your date? We didn’t have a chance to unpack yesterday. You were in the library  _ all  _ day,” Lavender says. “Where did you go? Did you go to Madame Puddifoot's? Did you hold hands? Did you kiss?”

“Whoa,  _ no _ ,” Hermione squawks. “We didn’t go to Madame Puddifoot’s and we did  _ not  _ kiss. We hooked arms, but we didn’t hold hands. It was just...honestly, we ran errands together.”

Lavender stares at Hermione unblinkingly. Her lips press out into a pout and she sighs.

“That’s not romantic at all!” she protests.

Hermione laughs. “Was it supposed to be?”

“What wasn’t romantic?”

The two girls look behind them, and Hermione grins as Harry joins them. He looks only a bit out of sorts, a little mussed, his tie crooked around his neck.

“ _ You’re  _ not coming from the Tower, are you?” Lavender asks, eyes wide.

Harry flushes. “Ah...I, well, I spent the night with Tom.”

Lavender grins. “ _ Ooooh _ ,” she coos. “So, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I mean, after all of that, I hope you’d be serious, habibi,” Hermione adds.

Harry rolls his eyes as he falls into step with them. He adjusts his bag on his shoulder and nods once. “Yeah, we’re...serious, I guess. I don’t expect that we’ll break up when he graduates in June.”

“So, long-distance? Have you talked about it? Oh, do you think you’ll visit him or he’ll visit you?” Lavender asks, each question being asked in a higher and higher octave. Hermione frowns in confusion, bewildered by Lavender’s nearly palpable anxiety.

“I...we haven’t talked about it much yet,” Harry says, but he’s frowning as if it’s something that he’s been meaning to talk about. Like it’s something that he’s thought about. Harry wipes his face clean, and looks over at Hermione and Lavender with a smirk. “Why are you harassing us, Lavender? Why don’t you just find your own boyfriend to be romantic with?”

Lavender giggles. “Maybe because you stole him.”

Harry’s smile falters. Lavender’s eyes widen and she reaches out to grab his hand.

“ _ Harry,  _ that was a  _ joke _ ,” Lavender insists with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not into Tom Riddle anymore. Honestly, he’s  _ far  _ too much for me.”

Harry relaxes almost immediately.

And Hermione can tell Lavender’s not lying at all, but there’s something else.

Something there.

Lavender’s over Tom. But, she’s not over what happened to her.

She’s not over being burned.

_ (Things about Lavender: _

  1. _She’s kind._
  2. _She’s excitable._
  3. _She’s a little annoying sometimes._



_ … _

_ 8\. She’s afraid. ) _


	14. TUESDAY, 11:21AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione is very sensitive to the eyes on her.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Don't touch my hair  
> When it's the feelings I wear  
> Don't touch my soul  
> When it's the rhythm I know  
> Don't touch my crown  
> They say the vision I've found  
> Don't touch what's there  
> When it's the feelings I wear"
> 
> -Don't Touch My Hair, Solange

It feels like the beginning of the school year again.

Most of the upper years are packed into the courtyard. The Ginny Weasley Defence Squad sit together by the wall, all clustered together. Across the courtyard, the Death Eaters reign with the Lestrange brothers perched in the tree, Tom standing beneath it as he speaks up to them. Every few minutes, Tom glances over at the Defence Squad, as if to survey Harry, and Harry stares back, utterly besotted.

At the top of the courtyard sits Draco Malfoy. He’s with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, along with his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. They don’t seem to be doing anything in particular. Still, Hermione can’t look away.

Until Pansy looks up and meets her eyes.

Only then, Hermione looks away sharply.

She turns her gaze back to Lavender’s Arithmancy homework.

“So, how does it look?” Lavender asks anxiously.

Hermione hums. “It looks fine, actually,” she says, and she tries not to sound impressed, but she can’t help it. “You’ve come _really_ far, Lavender. You might even be in good enough shape to take the Arithmancy O.W.L. if I form a study plan for—”

“No, _thanks,_ Mione. It’s already May. I don’t have the time,” Lavender says, with a wave of her hand.

Hermione hums. She’s not really surprised. Lavender’s smart, but she doesn’t really _like_ school. None of Hermione’s friends like school the way she likes school.

“Well, if you want to make _me_ a study plan to prepare for finals, I wouldn’t object!” Ron says cheerfully, and he yawns, stretching his arms over his head.

And then.

And _then,_ his arm is around her shoulders.

Hermione internally screams.

She looks around at the other members of the Defence Squad, bewildered. Ginny is smirking and Harry raises a single eyebrow, as if he’s trying to make sense of it. Suddenly, Hermione feels so exposed. She wiggles in her seat, shrugging Ron’s arm off, and she tries not to look at the wounded expression on his face. Instead, she slides to sit closer, just a little closer than before.

She pretends not to hate herself for _using_ him.

“I finally heard about why Parkinson was gone,” Lavender says, cracking the tension.

Hermione jerks at the very mention of Pansy. She looks up at Lavender with wide eyes, and ignores the strange look that Harry tosses her.

“Oh, do tell,” Ginny drawls.

Luna scoots forward, eyes wide. “Oh, I _know_ this.”

“You do?” Lavender asks, wide-eyed. She looks almost proud that someone’s following in her gossipy little footsteps. She sits up taller and smiles beatifically. “Well, go on, Luna. _You_ share the gossip.”

“She was _sick_ ,” Luna says.

Hermione couldn’t stop paying attention even if she wanted to. She swallows hard.

“What do you mean she was ‘sick’?” Harry asks.

Luna shrugs. “I just heard that she was ill. Ill enough to be pulled out of Hogwarts.”

“Not even Harry was ever ‘ill’ enough to be pulled from school,” Hermione mutters to herself. She looks up to see Harry’s disbelieving stare. Hermione shrugs. “Sorry, I just—”

“No, I get it,” Harry says with a slight smirk. He hums, like he’s gearing up to get her back. “ _H_ _ermione_ is tutoring her.”

Lavender jerks. “ _What_? Why didn’t you say, Hermione? You know I’ve been _dying_ to know where Pansy Parkinson has been for weeks now,” Lavender whinges.

Hermione sighs, “Well, it’s not really anyone’s business. And it wouldn’t be right for me to ask her. I’m her tutor.”

“Aren’t you just about friends?” Ron challenges and Hermione hates him for a moment for finally inserting himself in the conversation. “You walked to class together, right?”

“Oh, right!” Lavender says.

Luna’s eyes narrow.

“Probably because she tutors her,” Ginny says with a roll of her eyes. “Why would she be friends with Pansy Parkinson? Isn’t she dating Malfoy? Heinous, bigoted Malfoy?”

“I don’t know if they’re _dating_ —” Lavender says.

Hermione nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, they are. He picked her up after our last tutoring session,” Hermione says as she tries to ignore the pit in her stomach. “Sorry, I need to ask Professor Babbling something before Charms.”

She ignores the bewildered stares from the others as she stands up from the grass and bends down to grab her bag.

And then suddenly, there’s a big hand against her temple, brushing back the curls from her face. Ron stares up at her with worry, and Hermione is so _confused_ , so twisted with emotion, she wants to scream, but she also wants to rot inside. So, instead, she tears herself away.

She warns quietly, “ _Don’t_ touch my hair.”

When Hermione walks away, she pretends not to feel Pansy’s eyes on her back.


	15. TUESDAY, 4:47PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione goes to her safe place.

Hermione isn’t  _ hiding _ .

There’s nothing to be hiding from.

She just feels most comfortable in the library, with the books that she has so much in common with. Here, she feels safe. Here, she feels sane.

Hermione needs information.

She needs to know she’s normal, so she uses the Dewey Decimal System to find the sections that she requires. And then—she finds it.

_ LGBT History. _

Hermione knows about LGBT figures in the Muggle world. Even if people try to hide them, she can still find the information just as easily as she can here. But, here, it somehow feels even more forbidden. And she reaches up for the books on LGBT wixen, yanking them off the shelves and feels dirty. She swallows, because she just wants to  _ know _ . She shouldn’t feel  _ dirty. _

Harry’s gay. His godparents are gay.

Hermione’s a  _ lesbian _ . And she knows that. She can think it, even if she can’t say it out loud, just yet.

And yet, she still feels that  _ shame _ .

It’s horrifying.

It’s terrifying.

But,  _ wallah _ , she needs to know. Hermione needs to know that she’s not alone, because sure Harry and his godparents are gay, but Hermione is a woman and a lesbian, and she needs to know she’s not alone in that.

She grabs a stack, barely looks at their titles and she holds the books close to her chest as she makes her way to Madame Pince to check them out.

“Hermione,” Madame Pince says, and there’s a softness to her that she almost always lacks when it’s anyone other than Hermione. Madame Pince knows Hermione, because Heremione’s here, more times than not. It’s her safe space, and they have that in common.

“Hi, Madame Pince. I’d like to check out these books,” Hermione says, timidly.

Madame Pince nods and barely looks over the titles. She doesn’t question her, doesn’t mention that it's strange for Hermione to be interested in such topics. Instead, she just uses her quill to mark the due date on the inside library card in ink meant to expire after the due date, and then, she slides them back over the desk to Hermione.

Hermione grabs them and rushes away.

She doesn’t just put it in her satchel. That’s too risky. Any of the Defence Squad could open it, looking for quills. Instead, she throws open her satchel and retrieves a tiny beaded handbag. It’s her first time experimenting with the Extension Charm, but she thinks it works alright. She makes quick work of sliding the three books inside.

Then, there’s a, “Oh, there you are.”

Hermione tucks the beaded bag behind her back, slipping it into her satchel as discreetly as she can. But, Luna just stares at her with those owl eyes, all-knowing and all-seeing. Hermione wants to look away, but Luna holds her gaze very steadily. Luna takes a step forward.

“Hermione,” Luna starts, and then she stops again. She gathers her resolve. “ _ Hermione _ , may I tell you something?”

“Of course, but quickly. I...I have to go,” Hermione says, her voice cracking.

Luna nods. “The Ginny Weasley Defence Squad...you all are the first people that have ever accepted and  _ loved  _ me for me. Even when you tease me, I know you love me. I hope you know that I— _ we _ —love you too. No matter  _ what _ ,” Luna says very firmly.

And Hermione feels so utterly naked, so exposed, like a livewire. She tears her gaze away from Luna and nods even as a knot forms in her throat and suddenly her nose hairs burn from the unshed tears that she forces back. Luna nods and reaches forward to squeeze Hermione’s wrist and then she turns on her heel to walk away. Luna pauses and looks over her shoulder.

“It’s dinnertime. Do you really have to go?” Luna asks.

Hermione swallows. She debates with herself, and suddenly, she’s overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude.

“Ah, no. Let’s go to dinner.”


	16. WEDNESDAY, 4:03PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which pansy creates a challenge, and hermione falls for her shit.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "What if nothing ever will change?  
> Oh, I'm caught between your love and a hard place  
> Oh, I wish there was a right way  
> I'm caught between your love and a hard place, oh  
> Woah, oh oh woah, oh oh woah, oh oh woah"
> 
> Hard Place, H.E.R.

“I’m not kidding this time, students. Next Wednesday, we _will_ be doing a check-in on your Ancient Runes assignment. I want to know where your heads are at. The end of term is coming up at a faster pace than you realize.”

Professor Babbling’s warning is nearly lost in the bustle of students as they all pack up the moment 4 pm arrives.

As always, Hermione remains, hearing Professor Babbling out before she slides out of her chair. She’d packed minutes earlier so that she wasn’t rude, packing during Professor Babbling’s closing words, but she couldn’t fathom being the last out of the classroom like usual. Hermione slings her bag over her shoulder and rushes from the classroom, keeping her head down as she passes Pansy.

Even still, she’s not fast enough.

Hermione’s halfway down the hallway when Pansy finally catches up with her.

“Hey. Hermione,” Pansy calls. “Slow _down_.”

Hermione hadn’t even realized that she was near sprinting. She swallows around the knot building in her throat and slows, looking up at Pansy.

“Oh, Parkinson, hello,” she says, awkward and stilted.

“Hello,” Pansy drawls. “You move quite fast for someone with such little legs.”

“I _don’t_ have little legs. You’re just too…tall,” Hermione shoots back.

Pansy grins.

She sighs, “So you heard what Babbling said. During our next tutoring session, I expect we’ll need to really come up with a topic, right?”

Hermione swallows hard. “I...er, I’ve been meaning to talk to Babbling.”

“About?” Pansy starts.

“Well, I think that you’re getting along quite well on your own. You can keep my notes and study them. I just...I think I work best alone,” Hermione mutters, and she’s unable to keep eye contact because Pansy’s stare is too intense, like she’s trying to see to Hermione’s core.

“I disagree,” Pansy barks.

Hermione winces, and looks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I disagree. I think that we’d work _amazingly_ together. You and I, Granger. _Hermione_ ,” Pansy says and Pansy using her given name... _does_ things to Hermione.

It sends a thrilling shock up her spine, that shock blooming into something soft and pleasant.

“Parkinson, I just—”

“I thought we agreed that you’d call me ‘Pansy’,” the Slytherin girl says, voice hard. “I don’t know what’s gotten you spooked, Hermione, but I think we work great. I think you’re great. And I think we’d present a great project. So. I’m not letting you off the hook. Nope.”

Pansy says it so forcefully that it sparks something deeper in Hermione. Hermione glares up at her, folding her arms over her chest.

“If you think you can bully me—”

“If _you_ think you can bully _me,_ ” Pansy retorts back. “I don’t know why you’re trying to push me away, but I like you. I like talking to you. I think you’re smart, and I enjoy your company. I don’t want another tutor. And I don’t want another project partner. And I’ll tell Professor Babbling that too, so you’re _stuck_ with me.”

Hermione sighs noisily through her nose, glaring up at Pansy. Pansy looks back down at her, utterly smug. Hermione swallows and shrugs.

“Fine, whatever. Just...look, I don’t want to see your boyfriend if I don’t have to. I’m not going to put up with any nonsense from him...or _you_ ,” Hermione warns.

Pansy suddenly sobers, and she nods, seriously.

“Yeah, Draco was _out_ of line. I’m so sorry. I would _never_ say anything like that to you,” Pansy says firmly. “He won’t show up to any more of our tutoring sessions, I _swear_ , and I’ll have a talk with him. He’s just really...protective. Overly protective. It’s awful.”

And for some reason, Hermione believes her.

“Well, alright,” Hermione agrees.

She goes to step away again. She’s close to the courtyard and she expects the rest of the Defence Squad to be there too.

“Wait, ah, Saturday. There’s a dinner party being thrown by—”

“Professor Slughorn,” Hermione finishes. “After the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game. What of it? Are you going with your boyfriend?”

Hermione pretends not to be so bitter about it.

Pansy flashes a smile. “Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Any-friend.”

Boyfriend. _Girlfriend._ Any-friend.

_What does that even mean?_

Hermione takes a deep breath and looks up at Pansy. Pansy waits for her, patiently, as if she thinks that Hermione’s going to do something. Hermione folds her arms over her chest.

“Is that so?” Hermione asks.

Pansy nods. “I was invited. Well. Draco was invited. He can’t really go stag, now can he?”

And it’s such a weird way to phrase it that for a moment, it bewilders Hermione.

Hermione shrugs once, and for some reason, her brain seems to shutter.

“Well, I’ll be going with Ron.”

“Weasley?” Pansy asks with a barking laugh. “But, you’re—”

“I’m _what_?” Hermione demands.

Pansy holds up her hand in surrender. “Well alright, then. Maybe I’ll see _you_ there.”

It sounds like a _challenge._

Like Hermione wouldn’t dare ask anyone. Like Hermione is too afraid to ask anyone. Hermione glares at Pansy, because Hermione isn’t a _fucking_ coward. She’s cautious and logical, but she’s also brave too. She’s a _Gryffindor_.

“You’ll see us both,” Hermione snaps and then she flies down the corridor, storming off in search of the Defence Squad. When she reaches the courtyard, she finds it devoid of htem, and so she pulls her wand with a sharp, “ _Point me_ Ron Weasley.”

The wand twists in the direction of the Great Hall and Hermione is off. She’s a woman on a mission, so single-handedly pursuing it that she doesn’t even stop to take points from the Ravenclaw couple snogging behind one of the pillars _in public_. She pushes open the doors to the Great Hall and spots the Defence Squad, there at the table rather early for dinner.

“Hermione, there she is!” Lavender cheers. She stands up in her seat, waving. “I didn’t know if you’d be able to find—”

But Hermione shuts her out for _once_ , eyes flitting back and forth until they land on the redhead in question.

“Ron!”

Ron pauses before he sits down at the table, looking up at her with wide eyes. Hermione grits her teeth and storms down the aisle until she’s standing right there in front of him. She swallows hard.

“Hermione?”

“Ron, will you go with me to Slughorn’s dinner party?”

Lavender’s gasp sounds strangled, but Hermione can barely hear it over the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. Ron looks vaguely ill, and then, he swallows, and nods once.

“Yeah, why not.”

Why not, indeed.


	17. SATURDAY, 7:49PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione has her 'call your girlfriend' moment.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "I left a mark on your neck  
> I know that you won't forget  
> Yeah, I know, yeah, I know, I'm the best you've ever had  
> Yeah 'cause I'm sweet like that  
> Yeah, you know, yeah, you know  
> Playing with my fingertips  
> Sitting there biting your lip  
> Trying to kiss, who are you trying to trick?  
> Why don't you just cut the shit?"
> 
> -He'll Never Love You (HNLY) by Hayley Kiyoko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic language (but not used in a homophobic sense, if that makes sense?)

“Okay, okay, we have the _smallest_ of windows for this, so let’s get started,” Ginny says as she skids into view, jostling the bag she has at her side. She looks at the rest of the Ginny Weasley Defence Squad with wide eyes and grins.

They look back at her, unamused.

“So…what’d you get?” Harry prompts.

“Blaise is _very_ good friends with Lisa Turpin now. He’s learning the ropes, and _she’s_ giving him the booze,” Ginny says, and then she tears open the bag, pulling forth two bottles of Firewhiskey.

Hermione gapes. “ _Firewhiskey_? Do we have anything to make it go down easier?”

“Nope,” Ginny says, popping her ‘p’s.

“Merlin, Ginny’s trying to kill us,” Harry mutters.

Ginny sighs. “Don’t be a _baby_ , you’ll be fine,” she insists. “Anyone know a spell to get the stopper off?”

“Well, it’s not a bottle of wine. Give it here,” Hermione says, grabbing the first bottle. She uses all of her might and twists off the cap. Almost immediately, she’s assaulted with the acidic smell of alcohol and the permeating scent of ash.

She grimaces and takes a swig, ignoring how her tastebuds scream.

She’ll need a bit of liquid courage to get through the night.

Hermione pulls the bottle away from her lips, swipes at them with the back of her hand, and does her best to ignore the incredulous looks that the others are sending her. She lifts her chin, challenging them to say anything as she passes the bottle to Ron.

“Well, that’s the spirit, Hermione,” Luna says cheerfully as she takes the second bottle and follows Hermione’s example.

“You know, Luna, I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I enjoyed your commentary,” Lavender says diplomatically. She’s grinning when she says it, and Hermione can’t help but laugh into her hand.

“It was more than enjoyable. Luna, you know, you’re nearly insane,” Ron teases.

Hermione freezes for a moment, and then, she realizes that they’re all friends. Luna knows that Ron is only teasing, and he’s still smiling and Luna’s smiling back.

“I know,” Luna retorts.

“I wasn’t sure if you were rooting for your house or the other team,” Harry grins as he takes a swig of Firewhiskey. He shudders as it burns its way down, and Hermione shivers in response, still feeling the taste even as she takes the bottle back from Luna.

“I don’t believe in the concept of winning. Why should one party reap victory and the other shouldn’t?” Luna asks beatifically.

Hermione wants to lecture Luna on the definition of ‘winning’, but she’s too busy taking another swig of Firewhiskey. She stands straighter, smoothing her hands over her skirt, just an inch over her knees. She feels vaguely naked, but she also knows that she looks good—Lavender had picked out her outfit.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” Hermione says grimly.

Harry raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. He nods his agreement and passes the bottle back to Ginny. “Where can we stash this?” Harry asks.

Ginny groans. “I didn’t think _that_ far.”

Hermione grabs for her beaded purse. “Give it here. Extension Charm,” she says. Ginny grins and passes it over.

“You think of _everything_ , Hermione,” Ron says, shaking his head in awe.

Hermione shrugs, and then the Defence Squad is off.

Hermione can’t help but admire her friends. They’re quite beautiful, if she says so herself. Lavender, Ginny, and Luna have gone all out, dressed in cocktail dresses, though Ginny’s is borrowed from Lavender, refitted to her more muscular shape. Ron and Harry are both in dress robes. Harry’s even wearing a hint of green around his collar to highlight that Slytherin locket that he always wears. Hermione wonders if Tom will match.

They arrive at Slughorn’s old office in a timely fashion. The Death Eaters linger outside along with their leader.

“If it isn’t the _Death_ Eaters,” Luna says cheerfully.

“The Ginny Weasley Defence Squad,” Rodolphus retorts.

Rabastan laughs as Lavender rushes towards him, giggling and already hooking her arm through his. Hermione glances over at Ron and pretends not to notice the sour expression on his face. She reaches for his wrist, rubbing at the skin there, and he looks down at her. Ron smiles softly.

“You ready?” Ron asks.

“Why not?” Hermione retorts, and she pretends she’s not dying inside with jealousy as Harry grabs Tom’s hand and kisses the underside of his jaw like she doesn’t _want_ that with someone.

They open the door.

The ceiling and walls have been draped with emerald, crimson and gold hanging, so that it looks as though they’re all inside a vast tent. The room is crowded and stuffed and bathed in golden lamps, dangling from the ceiling in which real fairies flutter, each a brilliant speck of light.

Hermione hopes that the creatures are being paid a fair wage.

Loud singing accompanies the sound of mandolin issuing from a distant corner, a haze of pipe smoke hangs over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves are negotiating their way through a forest of knees, obscured by heavy silver platters of food. [1]

Hermione notices her immediately.

Pansy’s only wearing a short silver cocktail dress, exposing her shoulders, dipping low and daring in the chest area. It looks lovely on her.

Pansy sees her too. She smiles.

Hermione looks away swiftly.

“Ginny Weasley!”

Ginny has just met Blaise and she pulls away, wide-eyed as Gwenog Jones and another woman, slim and tall and intense looking.

“O-Oh, Ms. Jones,” Ginny stammers, losing her nerve.

“Gwenog will do,” Gwenog says firmly. “Valmai, this is her. This is the girl I was telling you about. Ginny Weasley. Gryffindor. Fifth year. This is Valmai Gordon. She plays—”

“Chaser for Holyhead Harpies,” Ron squeaks.

“Come, I know you’re not old enough to drink, but I want to chat with you. Valmai, she is _something_ else,” Gwenog says and she’s already walking away, but Ginny is standing there, stuck in place.

“Well, _go_ ,” Ron hisses.

Ginny jumps and Blaise tugs her along to chat with the professional Quidditch players. Ron stares after her, grinning broadly and proudly.

“You want a drink?” Ron asks.

The rest of the Defence Squad has already splintered off, probably off to find more alcohol themselves.

“Non-alcoholic, please. I’d like to keep most of my wits about me,” Hermione says. Ron nods and Hermione steps closer to the wall, pressing herself against it.

She wants to stand here, and take it all in, to feel the bustling presence of everyone wash over her, but she’s not left alone for long.

“Well, who are _you_?”

Hermione looks up, wide-eyed as she’s approached by two of the older warlocks that were smoking their pipes. They look kind and curious, not creepy in any way. Hermione relaxes just a tiny bit.

“I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Granger, as in Granger-Dag—”

“No. Just Granger. Hermione Jinan Granger,” Hermione says firmly. “I’m a Muggleborn.”

_(1. I’m a Muggleborn._

  1. _I’m African._
  2. _I’m Arab._
  3. _I’m Muslim—)_



“Well, then just Hermione, do tell how you know Horace,” the second man says. He looks a little more familiar than the first.

“Shouldn’t you introduce yourselves first?” Hermione says pleasantly.

The two men exchange glances and they both laugh heartily.

“Well, I am Eldred Worple—”

Hermione’s eyes widen. “You wrote Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires!”

“A fan of my work, then?” Eldred asks, absolutely delighted.

“Yes, sir.”

The second man grumbles, elbowing his companion. “I suppose _my_ accomplishments are far less compelling then. Well, for the record, I’m Barnabas Cuffe, and I do think I recognize you.”

Hermione’s eyes widen further. “The Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet?”

“The very one. You were on the Hogwarts Duelling Team, weren’t you? You were the primary in the Ilvermorny match. Made _quick_ work of that captain, didn’t you?” Cuffe says with a smirk. “I was there. The whole team is brutal, Eldred, I’m telling you. And their captains? Oh, they’re a scary pair, aren’t they?”

“Dating too. Imagine,” Hermione giggles.

Cuffe shivers, delighted. “Oh, _terrible_. Now, do tell, my dear, what have you done to endear Horace to you?”

“Well, the Duelling Team and…” Hermione trails off. These two men are powerful. And Eldred would be sympathetic, for sure. He consorts with _vampires_. Werewolves aren’t all that different. And Barnabas is a reporter. He’d want to know. “Harry Potter is my best friend and with his permission, I’m furthering the work of his mother in the form of creature rights.”

Eldred’s eyes widen. “ _Really,_ do tell!”

“Well, I want to open a werewolf relief fund. Often, werewolves are lost and slip through the cracks when considering their welfare and I’d like to correct that and fill the gap that the government intentionally leaves due to bigotry,” Hermione says firmly.

Cuffe scrubs at his chin. “Hmmm, that’s rather remarkable. Do you have any benefactors as of yet?”

Hermione winces. “Ah...not yet? Well, of a sort. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, of course. Half of the Hogwarts Duelling Team consists of pureblood heirs that contributed to my cause monetarily. After I graduate, I’d like to establish a wider network.”

Both Eldred and Cuffe look suitably impressed. They nod and Cuffe takes a step closer, bending his head towards her.

“I see now why Horace is so impressed with you, Miss Granger—” Cuffe begins.

And then, Ron arrives with a drink in hand. “Oh, there you are, Hermione. Here’s a butterbeer,” he says, passing her the drink. “I just got caught in a conversation with Myron Wagtail, you _know,_ the lead singer of the Weird Sisters. Blimey.”

“Oh, Myron’s here? I should say hello,” Cuffe says.

Hermione stands taller. “Oh, this is Ron Weasley. He was also on the Duelling Team with me.”

“Right, you dueled against Fleur Delacour with the redhead girl. Sister?” Cuffe asks.

Ron nods once. “Yeah, Ginny. That was us.”

“Well, it was very nice speaking with you, Miss Granger,” Cuffe says before he goes off, presumably to chat with Wagtail. Eldred lingers, but only for a moment more.

“Do drop an owl, Miss Granger, if you’d ever like to chat about the disenfranchisement of creatures in more depth,” Eldred says, and then, he’s off, leaving Hermione and Ron alone.

Hermione can’t stop beaming.

“What was that about?” Ron asks.

“They wanted to know more about my werewolf relief fund!” Hermione gushes, unable to help herself. She grabs onto Ron’s wrist and leads him back into the crowd, looking for the rest of the Defence Squad. “That was the Editor in Chief of the Daily Prophet! He’s really powerful. If I can get him to see, he might _help_!”

“That’s...blimey, that’s excellent, Hermione, isn’t it?”

Hermione grins back at him. “Very much so!”

Hermione catches a glimpse of Tom Riddle and Harry, holding court towards the center of the room. The pair seems to have charmed nearly every adult in a six-meter radius. Slughorn is right next to Riddle, looking at the pair with calculated awe. Tom and Harry look every bit as powerful as they are, standing tall and superior to the rest.

Hermione turns away and glances at the bar. Lisa Turpin is— _of course_ —behind the bar, but there’s a girl with her that Hermione’s never seen. The girl smiles, pressing blonde hair behind her ear and she leans up, pressing a kiss to Lisa’s lips.

Hermione’s fascinated.

“Oh, that’s...Lisa Turpin’s a queer?”

Ron drops the word so casually that Hermione doesn’t flinch until a full ten seconds later. She drops Ron’s wrist like it’s burning and Ron looks at her in surprise. He doesn’t look upset by the new revelation, just lightly surprised. And still, the word _stings_.

“You...you can’t just _use_ that word,” Hermione sputters.

Ron hums. “Huh? Harry does sometimes.”

“Well, Harry _is_ a...a…” and Hermione doesn’t say it, because then, she’d have to address the fact that she’d used the word. “Harry is gay, so he can use that word. It’s hurtful when you’re heterosexual. It’s not _your_ word to reclaim.”

“Alright. Sorry,” Ron says, raising his hands in surrender, but Hermione swallows around the hurt and closes her eyes.

She drinks her butterbeer to calm herself and then, there’s a hand on her elbow and it’s slim, and fine-boned and—

She opens her eyes and looks up.

“Pansy.”

“Hello, Hermione.”

Pansy’s there. _Right_ there. There’s a crease between her brows and she looks worried. She turns her dark eyes onto Ron, glowering at him. Ron looks caught out.

“I—” Ron starts.

“What’d you say to her?” Pansy snaps.

Ron turns fuschia. “I _didn’t_ say anything,” he snarls back.

Pansy glares. “Clearly, you did. She’s _upset_.”

“ _She’s_ right here,” Hermione interjects sharply. Pansy looks down at her, patient and waiting and— _fuck,_ she shouldn’t be looking at Hermione like that. Hermione doesn’t want to be looked at like that. “And I’m fine. Ron just...made a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?” Pansy drawls.

“I used a word that I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to use,” Ron says snippily. “I didn’t know Turpin’s a lesbian.”

Understanding dawns on Pansy’s face, and something nasty enters her eyes. “Oh? Which word? Was it ‘homo’? ‘Dyke’? ‘Queer’?”

“That one,” Hermione mutters, looking down.

Ron scoffs. “Why do _you_ get to use it, then?”

“Because Tom Riddle doesn’t have a monopoly on being attracted to multiple genders. I’m pansexual, Weasel-by,” Pansy snarks.

Hermione moves so fast, her neck aches, as she whips it around to stare up at Pansy. Pansy’s gaze flits down to her, and her mouth twitches, something pleased, before it hardens into a line again as she stares at Ron.

“Don’t...don’t call Ron that. He’s my friend,” Hermione says firmly.

“Whatever, _princess_ ,” Pansy says.

_Princess._

“Pansy,” Hermione starts again.

Pansy steps back, holding her hands up in surrender. She looks at Hermione, considering. “You look good, Hermione,” and then, she turns on her heel and walks away, having the last word as seemed to be Pansy’s regular modus operandi.

 _Princess_.

“Well, nice to see Parkinson is still heinous,” Ron mutters under his breath. “Can’t believe you have to tutor her, Hermione.”

“She’s not all that bad,” Hermione whispers to herself.

 _Princess_.

She can’t look away as Pansy goes back to _Malfoy,_ of all people. Fucking Malfoy who takes her hands and spins with her, and they’re both tall and pretty and _pureblood_. Hermione swallows back the bile on her tongue and looks away, looking up at Ron.

“You want to dance?” she asks. She drinks the rest of her butterbeer and sets it on the edge of a table.

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Ron says, perking up now that he’s been forgiven. He takes her hand properly now, lacing their fingers together and he draws her into the dance floor as the music takes a turn for the better, younger and hipper.

There’s a whoop as the electro-magica pop sounds of _Spellbound_ start up, and Pansy spins as she begins to dance with Malfoy, wrapping her arms around his neck. Hermione looks up at Ron. He’s watching her carefully as he sways awkwardly to the music, too slow for the fast-beat song.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, voice a little loud, but just enough for him to hear her over the song.

“I just...I don’t dance much,” Ron says nervously.

“That’s okay,” Hermione says. She shakes her hands out and moves with the rhythm of the beat. She bounces on the balls of her feet, because yes, she’s in a skirt and a lovely blouse, but she’s still in trainers because she’s Hermione _fucking_ Granger. “Just like this! Move like this.”

And slowly, Ron’s tension seeps away and he unwinds. He shakes his hands out and bounces up and down and then, they’re jumping together, hooking their arms through each other’s, and laughing. Hermione’s forehead bounces against his chest and she looks up at him, smiling. Ron wraps his arms around her and hugs her.

“Ah, Hermione, never change,” Ron laughs.

And Hermione isn’t sure if she can blame it on the alcohol when she hugs him back. She pulls back, linking their hands as they bounce up and down to the music. She flips her wrist, having him bend over to spin under her arm.

And as she dances, Hermione looks over Ron’s head and sees _Pansy_.

Pansy is there, all tall and slim and beautiful, one arm thrown over Malfoy’s shoulder as they roll their hips to the music. The dance floor is packed with mostly current students now, all members of the Slug Club, or at least Slug Club adjacent. It’s stuffed full, and yet, somehow, it feels like there’s only one other person in Hermione’s entire world.

Pansy tilts her head up just the tiniest bit, and then Malfoy is devouring her, licking his way into her mouth, his hands heavy on her waist. Hermione flinches against her will. Ron stares down at her, frowning.

“Hermione—” he begins, and he goes to look over his shoulder.

Hermione panics.

She reaches up, guiding his face back to hers and she smashes her lips against his.

It’s wet. And a little awful. At first.

And then, Ron cups her face and slows the kiss down. She looks up at him, his eyes are half shut, like he’d just been looking at something behind her. Hermione doesn’t close her eyes; she looks at Pansy, watches her as she falls into the rhythm of the kiss, slow and luxe and three shades off from being right. Hermione loops her arms around Ron’s neck, and stands on her toes, because at least, this is right. She’d have to stand on her toes to kiss—

And Pansy is watching her back. She’s kissing Malfoy, but she’s watching Hermione back, a challenge in the darkness of her eyes. Hermione pushes herself closer to Ron, because the closer she is to Ron, the closer she is to Pansy, and Pansy mirrors her movement.

The world slows as Ron’s tongue tangles with hers and if Hermione stares, half-lidded, she can imagine softer curves, a dip in the waist, still craning her neck, but a hand pressed into short black locks. Hermione _wants_ , feels burning between her thighs, and feels herself get wet.

Hermione pulls away from Ron, chest heaving, face burning and she spins on her heel. She stalks past Lavender, reaching a hand out behind her, waiting for someone to grab it.

When Hermione feels a larger hand in hers, for just a moment, she allows herself to imagine it finer-boned and slim and delicate. And then, she lets the moment flit away, and she holds tighter to Ron’s Keeper hands.

She doesn’t let go for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Don't be too mad at Ron! He's a teenager who's SUPER receptive to learning. Sometimes, when language is reclaimed, those that shouldn't be reclaiming feel too comfortable co-opting the language. And that's where Ron learns that it's not his language to use! So, he'es learning, and he's trying to be a good friend. Love me some Ron.
> 
> And I HAD to include the original Call Your Girlfriend scene from OG Skam. It's an imperative moment in canon and here because it confirms that the interest IS reciprocated. Pansy Parkinson is NOT a straight girl.
> 
> Hermione's book smart. People smart? Not so much!
> 
> [1] Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, JK Rowling


	18. SUNDAY, 9:23AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and harry get breakfast
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "They say, "You're a little much for me, you're a liability  
> You're a little much for me"  
> So they pull back, make other plans  
> I understand, I'm a liability  
> Get you wild, make you leave  
> I'm a little much for e-a-na-na-na, everyone"
> 
> -Liability, Lorde

When Hermione rises, she has the  _ most  _ horrendous hangover.

Her head is pounding and every time she opens her eyes, it stings her eyes. She squints against the soft morning and still stumbles from bed, pushing herself upward. She might move too fast, because her stomach turns. Hermione sighs, burying her face in her hands.

She kissed Ron.

She  _ snogged  _ Ron.

And she hadn’t even really wanted to.

“Fuck,” she whispers. And then, she whispers, “ _ Fuck _ ,” again because it’s Ramadan and she  _ really  _ shouldn’t be cursing and she shouldn’t have been drinking either, because she’s supposed to be trying to be a good Muslim.

Hermione sighs and stands to her feet, ignoring her pounding headache as she searches for a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. She puts it on in the most utilitarian fashion that she can and quickly brushes her teeth and finishes her morning routine.

She’d been too drunk to pineapple her hair, so her curls are crumpled and frizzy. She ties it back in a low puff and slaps on a headband. She can worry about it later. When she goes back into the dorm, she moves quieter. The other girls are still sleeping. Hermione reaches for the group parchment and then, she pauses because she doesn’t want to let everyone know.

Hermione grabs her wand and makes her way down the stairs.

Harry’s definitely not in his dorm.

But, she knows where he might be.

“ _ Expecto Patronum _ ,” she calls. An otter springs from the end of her wand, dancing around the Common Room. Hermione rubs the bridge of her nose, between her eyes, as her otter comes back and she sighs. “Tell Harry:  _ Get out of Riddle’s bed and meet me for breakfast. Alone, please. _ ”

The otter flits off, presumably to inform Harry of her plans.

She knows that it’s common for Harry to get breakfast with Ginny the morning after parties, but she’s kissed Ron and she wants to kiss Pansy and she’s hungover and she wants her best friend.

Hermione begins her slow journey down from Gryffindor Tower to the kitchens. The thudding in her head recedes to a dull roar as she pushes out the idle sounds of the Hogwarts Castle. She can hear the chattering of the paintings, the slow awakening of students, and then, the rest is filled with her thoughts. Thoughts that she hates to have.

When she finally arrives at the painting of the fruit bowl, Harry’s already there.

He’s in jeans, a shirt that’s clearly not his, and the locket hangs over it. Hermione can see the bite mark on his collarbone.

“Good morning,” Harry says cheerfully.

“Softer, habibi. I’m hungover,” Hermione says with a grimace.

Harry smirks and tickles the pear. The pear giggles and jumps to avoid his waggling fingers and then the door swings open.

Hermione can’t help but smile when Harry immediately greets the house-elves kindly. Dobby rushes over to greet them.

“Harry Potter and his  _ friend,  _ Hermione Granger!” Dobby says, and Hermione preens when she hears how uniquely excited Dobby sounds to see her. Dobby has always liked them, but Hermione knows that he appreciates the cozies and little hats that she’d knitted in her ill attempt at freeing the house-elves.

“Good morning, Dobby. How are you?” Hermione asks, mustering up as much enthusiasm as she can, particularly since her headache has returned with a vengeance.

“Oh, wonderful, Hermione Granger. Dobby saved up his wages for the past month to purchase Honeydukes!” Dobby chatter. “Dobby is wanting to try all the candy in the world.”

“That’s marvelous, Dobby,” Hermione says despite the voice of her mother echoing in her head, screaming about  _ cavities _ .

Harry and Hermione sit down at their usual table and almost immediately they’re presented with platters of croissants and eggs and bacon. Hermione avoids the bacon but helps herself to croissants and eggs. Her stomach feels utterly empty, and she’s starving and she knows she should fast, but she feels weak.

Hermione immediately begins consuming the carb-heavy meal.

Harry watches her, amused. “You wanted to get breakfast with me?”

“I missed you, habibi,” Hermione says genuinely in between bites of food.

Harry sighs. “I missed you too,” he admits, only a little awkwardly. “That party last night was...something else. Tom was... _ thriving _ .”

“I saw you both having a good time,” Hermione insists.

Despite the haze of alcohol, she can remember that Tom  _ and  _ Harry seemed to be basking in the attention.

Harry shrugs. “Well, I mean, I wanted to be with Tom. And he wanted to be the center of attention. So, I...was there,” Harry mutters, and suddenly, he looks so damn uncomfortable that Hermione’s heart aches and yet she perks up.

Because Harry has a problem.

And she can solve his problem and stop thinking about her own.

No think about Pansy and  _ princess _ —

“Habibi,” Hermione says gently. “What’s going on?”

Harry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He digs into his breakfast with a little more gusto. He sighs again around a mouthful of eggs, and then, he swallows.

“Tom is...Tom is being more secretive than usual,” Harry says, sharply. He looks cautious, like he’s not sure if he should share, and Hermione’s only more intrigued. Tom Riddle is enigmatic and secretive, and Hermione thinks that he’s not all that good and that Harry is okay with that. “He’s...he’s always been secretive. We have an agreement. He does his thing and I don’t...say anything about his business.”

“Business?”

Harry shakes his head once. “But, that’s not the point. It’s just...last night, someone offered him  _ another  _ job. He’s been getting job offers from everywhere, even  _ America _ , and it’s...I’m really pleased for him, I am. But, he’s not...he’s not telling me  _ anything  _ about where his head is at,” Harry whispers.

Hermione stares at Harry for a long time, and then, she knows.

“Don’t tell me you think he’s going to leave you?” Hermione whispers.

Harry looks away. “Well, Tom is—”

“Tom Riddle is in love with you. As in love with you as someone like him can be,” Hermione insists.

Harry scoffs. “He’s so—”

“You two need to communicate,” Hermione says firmly. “He doesn’t know how you feel. He can’t read minds.”

“Well, actually, he’s a Legilimens, so,” Harry says with a shrug.

Hermione pauses.

Pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You  _ know  _ what I mean, wallah,” she says, waving her hand. “Look, habibi, tell him that you’re afraid of him leaving you. That you’re afraid because you don’t know about what’s going on and what he’s doing.”

“I don’t want him to think that I want him to stay, though,” Harry insists. “I don’t want him to think I’m holding his back, because I don’t mean to just because...I don’t know what I want to...do yet.”

Hermione shakes her head. “You don’t need to have it all figured out just yet. We’re sixth years. Even when we graduate, we...I’m still learning this, but we don’t need to have it all figured out. Just...talk to someone when you’re feeling off. Someone besides Miriam, even though you  _ should  _ be talking to Miriam about it.”

Harry nods, looking thoughtful. He hums to himself as he processes the information and then, he looks up from his meal, smiling softly.

“Hermione, you always know what to say.”

“Well, habibi,” Hermione says with a shrug.

Harry shakes his head. “No, you really do. You always know what to say. What to do.”

And suddenly, Hermione is reminded of how much she wishes that was  _ true. _


	19. MONDAY, 4:07PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione realizes that she doesn't have to do everything alone

When they walk together from Ancient Runes to the library, they don’t walk in total silence, even Hermione wants to. Even if she doesn’t. Even if Hermione doesn’t know what she wants. Hermione wants to say something, anything about what happened at the Slug Club party. But, somehow, she’s unsure if anything  _ did  _ even happen. So, she doesn’t say much of anything as Pansy chats away, punctuating with hums and nods as they arrive at the library and settle down at what’s quickly becoming  _ their  _ table.

Hermione pays special attention to her quills and notes as she lays them out before her.

“Princess, what’s going on?” Pansy drawls, reaching across the table, the tips of her fingers brushing against the back of Hermione’s hand.

Hermione’s skin burns as hot as her cheeks.

“Ah...nothing. Just...we haven’t made a lot of headway on the project, have we? We’ve not got much time left,” Hermione says awkwardly. She’s never been much of a liar, and she’s sure that Pansy can see right through her, being a Slytherin.

“No, we don’t. I think I’m doing pretty well studying on my own. Babbling has been giving me regular assessments, and I’ve been passing with Exceed Expectations,” Pansy says with a shrug.

Hermione beams. “Great!” she says. “Also...Professor Babbling.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pansy snorts, rolling her eyes. She pauses as she pulls out her notes. “What did you think about Saturday?”

“Hmmm?” Hermione’s voice swings an octave too high.

“The Slug Club party. Weird, wasn’t it?” Pansy asks.

“Weird...is a...word,” Hermione finishes weakly.

Pansy presses her lips together, amusement in her eyes. “Yes, it is. I  _ am  _ really sorry about snapping at Weasley. I know he’s your friend, but I remember...Draco calling you names and—”

“It’s different,” Hermione says, voice firm. “Ron didn’t know any better. He was receptive to learning. Malfoy is  _ not _ .”

Pansy swallows hard, looking away. “Yeah...yeah...I know. I try to tell him to not... _ say  _ things like that. But, his parents are bigots and so is he. But, he’s good to me. More than I deserve. I don’t want to give up on him just yet,” Pansy says awkwardly.

Hermione swallows around the knot in her throat. She sits up straighter and primly says, “You don’t owe  _ me  _ an explanation.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I feel as if I do,” Pansy says with a shrug.

Hermione stares at her for a long moment before she flips open her leather-bound book.

“I’ve been brainstorming for our project. The topic—Nabataean. It’s the alphabet from which Arabic is descended. I think that we could parse it, and look for the connections between written current language and spells and the parent systems. I’ve already done the liberty of pulling a number of sources and assigning parts. I think we can do a speech, don’t you?” Hermione rattles off, sliding her book over to Pansy.

Pansy looks at her, wide-eyed before she looks down at her work again. She clears her throat as she looks over it, and then, she says, “Oh, this is...extremely comprehensive.”

“I like to be organized.”

“I can see that.” Pansy hesitates. “I... _ also  _ had an idea.”

Pansy reaches for her book and slides it over, flipping it to the proper page.

Hermione takes the book and looks down at the half-scribbled notes, full of question marks and segued hypotheticals.

“Oracle bone script?” Hermione wonders to herself as she looks at the information presented before her. She does a cursory scan of it. “Oh, that’s...that’s rather fascinating, isn’t it?”

“It’s the oldest written form of Chinese. Kanji is descended from it. Kanji and Hanzi are essentially the same in writing. I wanted to explore its place in East Asian magic, particularly runic-based magic, such as ward stones,” Pansy explains.

Hermione hums to herself, nodding. She leans forward and to herself mumbles, “This is really ambitious. I’m surprised. Pleasantly.”

Pansy is silent long enough that Hermione looks up from her notes, and blinks slowly. Pansy is staring across the table at her in disbelief. Hermione’s brow furrows.

“What is it?” she asks.

“You’re  _ ‘surprised’ _ ?” Pansy spits.

Hermione pauses. “I—I just didn’t know that someone like  _ you  _ would come up with something like this.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Granger?”

Hermione is so used to hearing her first name and  _ princess _ that she flinches hard at the sound of her last name. Pansy gaze softens for just a moment, but she’s staring at Hermione so hard that Hermione knows that she won’t be able to avoid the question.

“No...of course not,” Hermione says, softly, earnestly, honestly.

Pansy hums. “Then, why are you  _ ‘surprised _ ’?” Pansy asks. “Why are you shocked that I can and  _ want  _ to contribute?”

Hermione doesn’t mean anything by her words. She hadn’t even really been thinking when she’d said it, and now she needs to know why she did. She swallows, trying to work through her thoughts, because she wants to get this right. She doesn’t want her to be  _ upset _ .

“I...well, I’m used to doing group projects by myself. Everyone used to want to work on projects with me, because they knew I’d be good for it. And eventually...I realized that I was being taken advantage of, and so I just...started doing everything myself,” Hermione says, her voice tapering off into mumbles and she looks down at the oracle bone script again, tracing the characters with her fingers.

And then, there’s a hand on her chin, tipping her gaze back up.

She meets Pansy’s eyes.

“Well, you’re not doing  _ this  _ project on your own, princess,” Pansy says, voice still hard. “I’m smart, I’m capable, and I’m willing to work. I’m not going to take advantage of you. Okay?”

And Hermione can only whisper, “Okay.”

“Cool,” Pansy acknowledges and she sits back. She looks thoughtful as she pulls Hermione’s notes to her, looking over her ideas. “I do really like the idea of doing Nabataean, though. We should do both. It’ll be good that we’re focusing on two non-Germanic-originated rune alphabets. It’ll give us an advantage.”

Hermione perks up. “I agree. Perhaps we can present on their displacement in Western culture despite how they’d greatly benefit us. I feel like that Nabataean would assist enormously in medicinal practices. Healing could be so advanced,” Hermione says, already feeling more enthusiastic. She waits for Pansy to tease her, but Pansy taps her chin, only looking more thoughtful.

“Yeah. I agree. And oracle bone script. Clearly divination in origin. I’m not all that big of a believer in divination, but this...I can believe this. The evidence is there,” Pansy mumbles.

Hermione hums. “Is it really?” she asks as they fall into a rhythm.

“Yeah, look here. It was used to predict this plague…”


	20. WEDNESDAY, 5:47PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione finds a new ally.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "You say I’m loca, crazy  
> Said I been tripping lately  
> I wanna know baby  
> Does that make me insecure, mi amore  
> Mi amore  
> Does that make me insecure, mi amore  
> Mi amore  
> Does that make me insecure?"
> 
> -Insecure, Amara La Negra

“We’ll meet again in a fortnight to discuss any further changes that we believe need to be implemented,” Tom finishes as he flips his book shut. He glances over at Clearwater one more time, as if gauging whether or not she has anything more to say. Clearwater shakes her head and so Tom rises and grabs his bag. “You’re all dismissed.”

Ron groans next to Hermione and sighs. “Thank _Merlin_. It was so long.”

“We knew it would be. You received the same agenda that I did,” Hermione says. She’s still thrilled every time she says it. She won’t exactly miss Tom Riddle next year, but she hopes whoever replaces him will be as meticulously organized as he is.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t _read_ it. Merlin,” Ron says, shaking his head. “Come on. Let’s get dinner.”

Hermione’s stomach roars, and she casts a quick _Tempus_.

She’d chosen to somewhat fast today, and her mouth is dry and her stomach is roaring, but she feels good. She feels happy and full in all the best ways. She frowns when she sees that it’s not quite sundown yet, but she feels a slightly pounding behind her eyes.

“Ah, sure. I’ll eat something light. I just have to be done by sundown. I have to pray,” Hermione says.

Ron nods at her explanation, and Hermione wonders at the fact that it’s _Ron Weasley_ who is her confidant now when it comes to her religion. He doesn’t constantly ask her _whys_ and _whens_ when she tries to explain what she has to do to be a good Muslim. He just accepts it and smiles and encourages her.

He’s a good friend.

Hermione regrets not realizing that sooner.

Hermione regrets not being a good friend back.

“Granger! Granger, I’d like to speak with you.”

Hermione turns halfway out the door. She pauses, staring at Evan Rosier curiously.

They don’t speak. They run in similar circles, but the Defence Squad hasn’t really endeared themselves to the Death Eaters, and vice versa. And yet, he’s staring at her and asking for her attention with a friendly smile.

“Ah, sure, Rosier. We’re on our way to the Great Hall. What is it?” Hermione asks.

Rosier clears his throat. “I mentioned you to my mother in a recent letter,” he begins. He ignores the confusion on Hermione’s face. “She’s greatly interested in your werewolf relief fund. I wanted to inquire more about what exactly the proceeds would be marked for.”

Hermione brightens, eyes widening.

“Ah, yes, of course!” Hermione chirps. She pauses. “Do you mind, Ron?”

“Never,” Ron says sincerely.

Hermione nods. “Well, I’m not doing it alone, of course. Professor Lupin is assisting in shaping the program. I want the relief fund to first fund a few programs, particularly one that helps with employment. The unemployment rate for werewolf wixen is _much_ higher than the typical wizard or witch, and I’d like to find safe employment for a lot of these people. We’d be creating a network of approved shops and organizations that have a record of equal treatment. We’ll also be using the first funds to advocate for legislation that requires werewolves to be treated the same as anyone else.”

Rosier nods quite seriously absorbing her words. He looks down at his feet for a moment and then looks up at Hermione again.

“I’m not really supposed to say this, but my uncle is a werewolf. He was disinherited the day it happened. My mother takes care of him, on the side, but it’s hard for him to maintain employment. This will help,” Rosier admits. Hermione stares at him, shocked by how open he is about it all. Rosier stands taller and clears his throat. “What do you anticipate for the future of your organization?”

“Oh!” Hermione squeaks. “Well, one day, of course, I’d like to open a food bank.”

“What is that?” Ron asks, unable to help interjecting.

Hermione clears her throat. “It’s a place that stocks food and other essentials for those in need. Our target population would be, of course, werewolves. We’d keep it totally anonymous. I know there’s the Werewolf Registry, but I believe that’s an invasion of the private rights of the Wizarding World’s citizens,” Hermione says firmly.

Rosier hums. “What if they attack someone?” he asks.

Hermione shakes her head. “It’s like...disclosing a medical problem. You don’t have a right to that information if it belongs to someone else. It’s not fair,” Hermione says firmly. “If we think it is, then, it’s a really slippery slope into a fascist regime where private information belongs to the government.”

Rosier looks thoughtful. He clears his throat. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Granger. I’ll be in touch. Do you mind if my mother writes to you?”

Hermione grins. “Not at all!”

Rosier nods and continues on his way, outpacing them easily. Ron grumbles next to Hermione.

“Can’t even bother to say goodbye, can he?” he mutters.

Hermione snorts. “Rosier is...interesting,” she says for lack of a better word.

Ron snorts. “Is he?” he asks derisively. “I guess if you’re into Slytherin Death Eaters. Like Harry. Like…”

He trails off, like he’s asking a question.

Hermione rolls her eyes.

“Rosier is just an intellectual…”

Hermione trails off, and her voice strangles in her throat.

Because, there she is.

Pansy Parkinson is walking towards them, her gaze caught on Hermione’s face. She’s looking at Hermione and _only_ Hermione, and Hermione can’t look away as they walk towards one another, one meter than another.

And then, Pansy turns her head and flashes her a smile.

The world slows down.

Hermione’s lungs hurt.

And Pansy keeps walking.

Hermione frowns and looks down.

“Hermione?” Ron asks.

Hermione looks up at Ron and smiles. “Like, I was _saying_ : Rosier is an intellectual, and I _refuse_ to turn away a wealthy, pureblood ally of the cause.”


	21. FRIDAY, 8:58PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione goes home for iftar
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Searchin' every corner of my mind  
> (Search every corner, look for the answers)  
> Lookin' for the answers I can't find  
> (No, I can't find 'em, no silver lining)  
> I have my reasons and life has its lessons  
> I try to be grateful and count all my blessings  
> But heavy is the head that wears the crown"
> 
> -Crown, Stormzy

When they finish praying, they wash their hands again, sharing the same sink. Hermione focuses on her own hands, scrubbing it with soap and water again and she turns it over, admiring the lines in her palms. A lighter set of bronze hands settles over hers and brings them up.

Hermione turns and stares up into her mother’s face.

Nadia Granger smiles back.

Hermione has always found her mother absolutely beautiful. When she was growing up, she’d wished for her mother’s lighter skin, her looser curls, her easy smile. Somehow Hermione looks nothing like her—darker-skinned, tighter curl, gap between her teeth—and yet, everything like her. It’s the shapes of their jaws, the shape of their eyes, the curve of their mouths. Hermione tucks her head into the crook of her mother’s neck.

“I missed you,” Hermione murmurs.

“ _I missed you, too, habibati_ ,” Nadia whispers in Arabic.

Hearing it, hearing her tongue, feels like coming _home_ , and yet, Hermione’s never felt farther away.

“Ready to eat?” Hermione asks. Nadia hums and takes her hand, pulling her into the dining room. Hermione swallows when she smells the familiar scents and her heart aches.

Three dates on three plates a glass of water.

 _Harira_ and phyllo triangles. _Mahshi_ stuffed with meats. Hermione’s favorite chips from the chip shop around the corner. Qatayef for dessert.

It’s Marrakesh.

It’s Cairo.

It’s London.

It’s _home_.

Hermione sits down heavily in her chair across from her father. Her baba grins at her and winks. Hermione grins back because she can’t help it. She leans forward in her seat.

“How was your day today?” she asks.

“ _Good. I must tell you about your mother mistaking a teenage girl for her mum today—_ ”

“ _I was teasing,_ ” Mama protests, shaking her head. “ _I’ve been seeing the little girl for years. But, she’s getting so big. She’s only a few years younger than you, Hermione._ ”

Baba rolls his eyes and grins, and Hermione smothers a smile behind her hand. She takes up the three dates just as her mother and father do and she feels her stomach twist in anticipation as she swallows them in a hurry, drowning it with water right after. Her mother is much more dignified, though she looks amused.

“ _You still break your fast the same. Impatient,”_ Mama teases.

“ _Eager_. _Our daughter is always eager. Ambitious too,_ ” Baba says. “ _How’s your wolf fund?_ ”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Werewolves, Baba. They’re people too. Not animals. And well. One of the wealthier students is speaking to his mother about maybe donating. He says that she’ll write me a letter.”

“ _Oh, he?_ ” Baba teases.

Hermione swallows hard, looking down. She begins to make her plate as her mother makes her father’s. She ladles _harira_ into a bowl, sets phyllo and mahshi on the side plate. She digs in with more gusto than necessary as she tries to formulate an answer.

Her father hasn’t looked away.

“It’s not like that,” Hermione says.

“ _Is there anyone like that? What about that Harry fellow_?” Mama asks.

Hermione scoffs. “Harry has a—” and she stops. She bites her bottom lip, because she doesn’t know what they’ll say if she says that Harry has a _boyfriend._ She doesn’t know if they’ll demand she stops being friends with him.

“ _Harry has a...what?”_ Baba asks.

“He has...a boyfriend. His name is Tom.”

Hermione steadily keeps her eyes on her harira and eats more, waiting.

“ _Well, then, what about that boy, Ron?_ ” Mama asks.

Hermione’s gaze darts up. Mama stares back at her, raising an eyebrow. Her wild curls frame her face, her scarf having slipped down over her shoulders. She wears a loose scarf like Hermione, for maghreb, because they’re at home.

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighs with a shrug. “They just...don’t get it.”

She tries to ignore the way her parents exchange looks as she reaches for the rest of her food. The explosion of spice on her tongue makes her smile a little. She’s missed her food. She reaches for a chip and grins around it at her Baba. She’s missed home.

And yet, she feels so lost, a strange disconnect because her parents are asking questions that she wants to answer, but can’t.

“ _Tell us more about school, habibati. Does anyone bother you for fasting? Are you fasting?_ ” Baba asks.

Hermione hums nervously. “Is this an interrogation, Baba?”

Baba frowns. “ _No, of course not. Hermione, I’m only asking_.”

“Sometimes, I fast. Sometimes, I don’t. I always pray at maghreb though. _Always_ ,” Hermione says, because she does. She makes sure to pray then, because it’s when she feels closest to Allah, and closest to the time when everything was simpler and easier.

“ _That’s good, sweetheart,_ ” Baba says. “ _Now, tell us about this Ron character. You don’t know? Thought my daughter always knows."_

Mama giggles. “ _Oh, yes, he’s the tall, skinny white boy with the orange hair, isn’t he? He seems nice. Do you hear that, Youssif?_ _Our daughter is going to bring home a white boy that doesn’t speak a lick of Arabic. Can you imagine?_ ”

“ _Oh your sister will die of fright,_ ” Baba laughs, and he sounds far too pleased, and Hermione knows that it’s because Baba doesn’t particularly like her aunt, nor does Hermione’s aunt like Baba, for many reasons.

_(1. “Egyptian man thinks he’s good enough for my sister.”_

  1. _“She should be wearing a hijab. I don’t understand why you won’t raise her to be a good Muslimah!”_
  2. _“Youssif, what in the name of God possessed you to name her that_ English _name? She is Arab—”)_



Hermione’s father’s brother isn’t the only conservative in the family.

“Really, it’s not anything—” Hermione starts even though she kissed Ron, and it _should_ be something, but it’s not because there’s this girl—

“ _That’s what I used to say about your father,_ ” Mama sings. “ _When I was in dentistry school and my mama would ask about any boys, I’d say ‘It’s not anything’. And I was wrong._ ”

Baba grins, flirtatiously. “ _Very wrong, beloved_.”

And they’re speaking in Arabic, and they’re joking and laughing and teasing, and they don’t mean any harm. They’re speaking her language, her comfort tongue, and yet, it sounds so foreign to her. Everything feels so off and foreign and wrong and Hermione is so confused and overwhelmed and she wants to tell them to stop. She wants to shout, _I’m a lesbian, please don’t hate me, please love me_ —

And she’s thinking too much. And thinking too loud. And she feels so _damn_ out of control—

“I...I…” Hermione stammers, and then, “ _Please_ speak English.”

There’s a beat of silence. Hermione gasps and stands to her feet, her hand to her mouth.

“Hermione, are you—” Her mama begins, and it sounds _wrong_. It sounds so wrong coming out of her mouth and Hermione’s heart begins to beat in double time.

“No...no...I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_ ,” Hermione gasps. “Don’t...I shouldn’t have said that.”

Hermione spins and runs out of the dining room and up the stairs.

She slams the door behind her.


	22. FRIDAY, 11:12PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione gets a letter.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide  
> Gonna find you and take it slowly  
> Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide  
> Gonna find you and make you want me"
> 
> -Ready Or Not, Fugees

When she wakes up, she hears nothing out of her tape deck. She rolls out of bed and looks through the cassettes stacked next to the machine and she strokes over the speaker, sighing to herself. Hermione always misses her parents, but she misses Muggle music a lot too.

She knows that her parents are deep sleepers too.

Hermione selects _The Score_ . She debates flipping right to Side B, but chooses not too. She ejects _Ready to Die_ and slots _The Score_ into space. She skips forward just a few songs and then, Lauryn Hill croons, _“Ready or not, here I come_ …”

Hermione sighs as she sits down on the edge of the bed and presses her face into her hands. She sighs long and loud, unable to help herself. It’s so much. She always feels so _much_ when she comes home, and suddenly, she regrets coming home. It’s easier when she can make the clean break from either place. It’s easier to not have to pretend so fast, so deeply.

“I want to get it right,” she whispers into her hands.

She wants to be a good daughter. She wants to have success. She wants to be in _love_.

She wants to have it all inshAllah, and she wants to get it _right_.

Hermione isn’t sure what’s right anymore. 

And then, there’s a tap on her window pane.

Hermione frowns and looks up. She looks at the regal owl that hovers outside, cast in a strange orange glow from the streetlamp. She stands from her bed, and sighs as she makes her way towards the window and opens it, letting the screech owl in. The screech owl is short and stocky and rather pretty with glossy feathers.

It hops through the open window, fluttering over to her desk and then hops in a circle, turning to face Hermione. It presents its leg rather imperially.

Hermione’s mouth twitches.

She wonders what it could be. The Defence Squad _know_ that she’s at home for the weekend. She’d fielded their questions rather expertly, and Ron had even helped, doing his best to explain Islam to Luna and Ginny. They wouldn’t interrupt unless they _had_ to.

Hermione grabs the letter and falters.

Her name is written across the front of the letter. She recognizes the handwriting.

Hermione tears it open so hard she almost rips the letter in half. She swallows, hands shaking as she unfolds it.

_Hermione,_

_I know we just worked on our project, but it seems that I don’t have that firm a grasp on some of the material. Would you be available to study tomorrow morning? Sometime after breakfast, though if you’d like to work and eat, I wouldn’t be opposed. I’m not in the Castle right now, but we can meet in Hogsmeade._

_Let me know,_

_Pansy_

Hermione swallows the squeal that threatens to rise in her throat, and then, she promptly falls back into her desk chair, because she doesn't feel like herself _at all_. She sighs to herself, and immediately feels a pang of regret. Hermione swallows around the thick knot of it.

“Ugh,” she mutters as she looks for a quill and spare parchment, but the closest she comes to it is a spiral notebook and a pen. She scribbles on the inside of the notebook until ink comes to the surface. She sighs as she tears out a piece of paper.

 _Pansy,_ she writes, _I really wish I could, but I’m actually at home. My Muggle home. For the weekend. But, we can definitely meet on Monday again, if you want._

Hermione signs with a flourish: _Hermione Jinan Granger_.

She folds it up and pokes a hole in the corner. She pushes some twine through and wraps it around the screech owl’s leg. The owl doesn’t wait for a moment before it takes off through the window again.

Hermione goes back to bed, humming to the song, unable to help herself.

By the time Hermione gets a response, she’s flipped to Side B. The screen owl is back again, and carrying another letter. This time it doesn’t make any sounds that might wake her parents. It swoops in through the open window and lands on her desk across the room. Hermione hums and rolls off her twin bed again.

She goes for the owl and plucks the letter from the offered leg.

_Princess Hermione Jinan,_

_Where do you live in London?_

_Pansy_

_P.S. Inoue would greatly appreciate an owl snack if you have one._

Hermione giggles under her breath. A screech owl named after Empress Inoue, a Japanese empress deposed for witchcraft. Hermione hums and opens her desk drawer. She looks up at Inoue.

“These are a bit stale. Sorry,” Hermione says, offering the tin up.

Inoue looks rather unimpressed but leans down, plucking up a treat between her beak. Hermione hums and grabs another piece of paper from her spiral notebook. She scrawls down her address, and then frowns, because _why_ is she providing Pansy Parkinson with her address. She sighs, and writes it anyway, and then punctuates it with a _Why?_

She attaches it to Inoue’s leg with some twine, and looks at her.

“Sorry about you going back and forth,” Hermione says in earnest.

Inoue makes a soft trill and takes off.

Hermione goes to wait, laying down in her bed.

She falls asleep listening to _No Woman, No Cry_.

Pansy never responds.


	23. SATURDAY, 12:03PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione goes on an adventure.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Pynk, like the inside of your... baby  
> Pynk behind all of the doors... crazy  
> Pynk, like the tongue that goes down... maybe  
> Pynk, like the paradise found  
> Pynk when you're blushing inside... baby  
> Pynk is the truth you can't hide... maybe  
> Pynk, like the folds of your brain... crazy  
> Pynk as we all go insane"
> 
> -Pynk, Janelle Monae

It’s noon when Hermione finally musters up the courage to go downstairs.

She wastes time by doing her hair far more elaborate than she ever would. She twists two space buns atop her head, and lets the rest hang down her back. It’s frivolous and fun, and she secures golden cuffs in her hair because she wants to. Hermione would never do this at Hogwarts, where she’s serious and studious, because it would be a distraction, but at home, she feels free to do as she pleases.

At least, in this aspect.

She goes downstairs slowly, but the third to last stair creaks, like always, so her parents’ quiet murmurs in the kitchen stop entirely.

Hermione clears her throat as she walks into the kitchen, staring down at the ground, at the cracked tiles that she made with accidental magic when she was only nine and had a tantrum. She’d stomped so hard that the crack had rippled through the kitchen.

Her parents had never replaced it because they’d thought it was marvelous.

“Um...hey... _hey_ ,” Hermione says, repeating herself in Arabic. “ _Last night, I was...awful. I was frustrated because of things at school, and I just...I took it out on you. I’m so sorry. I’m really, really sorry._ ”

She finally looks up.

Her Baba is staring at her with a tiny smile. Mama’s eyes are warm.

“ _Habibati, you are forgiven,”_ Baba promises gently.

Hermione can hear the sincerity in his voice and the tight knot in his chest unravels nearly completely. She smiles weakly and sits down at the dining table, across from her mother. Mama reaches across the table, cradling Hermione’s hands in hers and she brings them up to her lips.

“ _Are you fasting today?_ ” Nadia asks gently.

There is no judgment in her voice. Nothing but love.

“I... _no, I’m not,_ ” Hermione whispers, and she feels crushing guilt turning her stomach, looking away.

Mama sighs. “ _Oh, habibati, don’t look away from me. Do you want me to make you something to eat_?”

Hermione shakes her head, and Mama only nods.

She doesn’t let go of her hands.

“ _What’s going on, habibati?_ ” Baba asks.

Hermione frowns. “ _Nothing_ ,” she mutters.

“ _Don’t give us that,_ ” Baba warns. “ _We are concerned. You are our daughter, and we love you. What’s going on? Tell us so that we can help you, as we should._ ”

And Hermione doesn’t know how to answer. There’s so much she wants to tell them. She’s used to keeping everything inside, that she doesn’t have the words for it. There are so many secrets that she buries in her ribs. She wants to vomit all of those secrets, but she can’t. She can’t tell them, because she doesn’t know what they’ll say.

It’s more logical to let the secrets scream inside her head instead.

Before she has to lie, there’s a knock on the door.

“ _I’ll get it!"_

Hermione nearly trips towards the door, jumping over a pair of trainers to make her way to the front door. She tears it open, much more eager to speak to the mailman than to her own parents.

She falters.

“Hey.”

Hermione stares at Pansy Parkinson, lips parted, eyes wide. Pansy grins back at her, her lips painted bright red.

“H-hey,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy hums, leaning against the wall. “So...do you wanna go on an adventure?”


	24. SATURDAY, 2:47PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Pansy Parkinson proves to be an enigma
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Fem fine frøkner oppi klubben, vi befaler  
> Sku det helt opp i himmelen  
> Om det e fem fine fyrer spiller ingen rolle for det  
> E ingen andre eg heller gjør det her med"
> 
> -5 Fine Frokner

“So...you were in London this weekend too?” Hermione says awkwardly.

“Yup,” Pansy says, popping her lips.

Hermione waits for her to explain, but Pansy doesn’t try to. Instead, she gets distracted by one of the shop windows, wandering over to stare at the pretty dress in the display.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Pansy murmurs. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Hermione nods her agreement. She looks at the dress, a rich maroon, close cut with a slit up the thigh. Pansy turns to look at Hermione.

“You’d look good in it,” Pansy decides. She hums, and shakes her head. “Now, let’s find a Tesco’s before I try to buy it for you.”

Hermione squawks. “You will do _no_ such thing,” she insists.

Pansy snorts, but nods. They walk down the sidewalk, expertly avoiding the Muggles moving in the opposite direction. It strikes Hermione that Pansy is the only pureblood wizard that she’s ever seen move amongst Muggles as comfortably as she does. She’s even nailed the dress right, wearing a sturdy pair of high-waisted jeans and an oversized white button down.

It’s curious.

“So, why did you go home, then?” Pansy asks.

“It’s Ramadan. I’m Muslim, and I wanted to break my fast with my family,” Hermione says.

Pansy makes an affirming sound. “Oh, are you fasting, then?”

Hermione’s brow furrows. “Not...not today,” she murmurs.

Pansy nods. “Do you need somewhere to pray? We can make stops if you need to pray.”

Hermione pauses. “Do you...know about Islam?” she asks.

Pansy scoffs. “I’ve been all over the world during my break. You aren’t the first Muslim witch that I’ve met, Hermione, and you certainly won’t be the last, I’m sure,” Pansy says.

“All over the world? Why did you leave? To travel?” Hermione asks.

Pansy looks tense now as they turn into the Tesco’s. “No...it was family issues. Sorry, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hermione’s face grows hot.

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. That was...really invasive of me,” Hermione says, speaking quickly.

“No, it wasn’t. I want to tell you,” Pansy admits. “I’m just...not ready. If that’s alright.”

Hermione smiles. “That’s perfect.”

She expects Pansy to go up to the counter, but she wanders the Tesco’s, bobbing and weaving through the sea of shoppers and their carts. Hermione follows her as Pansy goes up and down the aisles, utterly fascinated.

“You know...I’ve never been grocery shopping,” Pansy murmurs to herself. “Never even cooked.”

“ _Really_?” Hermione blurts out.

Pansy nods. “Yeah...my kaa-sama is...super traditional. She doesn’t think a pureblood heiress’ place is in the kitchen. But, I want to learn,” Pansy admits. “I need to know how to...survive on my own.”

Hermione takes a step closer, curious.

“Just survive?” Hermione asks because it’s a curious word to use.

But, Pansy doesn’t seem to hear her.

“Oh, shit, I love this song,” Pansy mutters as the weird electronica starts up over the intercom.

Hermione frowns as the Norwegian starts up.

_Åh hosianna, Annotate Hevenu shalom_

_Fem fine frøkner ska aldri dra hjem_

_Lyden av noe som slipper oss fri_

_Vi har'sje penger men vi eier allting_

“How do you know Muggle music?” Hermione asks just as the beat drops and Pansy grins at her, bopping her head to the music. Hermione’s brow furrows harder. “This is _not_ good.”

“You don’t know Gabrielle?” Pansy asks. She swivels in, shimmying her shoulders. She’s tall and gangly in denim jeans and a men’s shirt, and suddenly, she doesn’t look like the sophisticated woman in oversized vintage Muggle clothing.

She’s a goofy teenaged girl.

She's the girl of Hermione's dreams.

Hermione hiccups a laugh.

Pansy grins harder.

 _“Fem fine frøkner oppi klubben, vi befaler_ ,” Pansy sings, slightly off-key as she gets in Hermione’s face and circles her. “ _Sku det helt opp i himmelen._ ”

Hermione giggles, and those giggles transform into belly laughter as Pansy jumps back in front of her and keeps singing. Her accent is horrific, from what Hermione can tell, but Pansy doesn’t seem to care. She jumps back and grabs a can of cooking spray like it’s a microphone and sings into it, bopping her head up and down.

“Pansy, _seriously_ ,” Hermione laughs. “This is _not_ music.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over this _excellent_ piece of Muggle culture!” Pansy insists. She spins around and poses, looking over her shoulder quite seriously before she breaks down in laughter. “Wait, seriously, do you not know Gabrielle? What about Stromae?”

“Who is _that_?” Hermione laughs.

“What do you _mean 'who_ is that'? Stromae is a French pop artist, and he's _amazing_ ,” Pansy says. “Come on, Princess. I thought _you_ were the Muggleborn.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I listen to _real_ music, Pansy. Like Lauryn Hill. The Notorious BIG. Aaliyah. 90’s greats.”

Pansy hums. “That all sounds very... _American_ to me,” Pansy drawls, her nose wrinkling, like American is where she draws the line in her music.

Hermione snorts. “Come on. The cigarettes are at the front.”

Pansy smirks. “I _know_ ,” Pansy drawls. “I just wanted to dance in the aisle.”

Hermione shakes her head and smiles as she follows Pansy up to the counter. She watches as Pansy asks for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She blinks in surprise when Pansy flips open her wallet and doesn’t reveal just pound notes. She pulls out a black credit card and swipes it through the machine, putting in her pin quickly.

“ _You_ have a credit card?” Hermione asks.

Pansy side-eyes her as she collects her cigarettes and lighter. “Yeah, of course.”

“Um, why?”

“I’m an enigma, Hermione Granger,” Pansy says with a shrug. She looks at Hermione curiously. “So are you, princess.”

“Why do you call me that?” Hermione asks softly.

She watches as Pansy considers the question. Pansy pulls out a cigarette and holds it to her lips as she lights it with her lighter. She tucks both the lighter and pack in her back pocket and takes a deep inhale. When she finally exhales, Hermione feels like a thousand years have passed.

“Because you’re kind of stiff, aren’t you? You don’t know how to have fun, and I want to teach you,” Pansy hums. Her eyes flash with amusement. “And...you’re pretty as a princess, aren’t you, Hermione?”

“Am I?” Hermione whispers.

“You _are_ ,” Pansy confirms and she lightly bumps Hermione’s chin with her knuckles. “Now, let’s go. I want to take a walkabout London and then we should go get a pint, I think.”

“We’re not legal here,” Hermione says.

Pansy hums. “I’m seventeen. A well-placed Confundus Charm will fix that. No, none of that. I know you’re going to say something about _rules_ ,” Pansy says. She ignores the outrage on Hermione’s face. “What’s the point of rules if you don’t break them sometimes?”

“To regulate and set standards!” Hermione squawks.

And yet, she doesn’t resist when Pansy links arms with her.

“Now, let’s go!” Pansy says cheerfully, taking another inhale. "Let's have some fun!

Hermione bites her bottom lip and prepares to have some _fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: Another nod to OG Skam!
> 
> And, we have one more update today.
> 
> See you at 21:21


	25. SATURDAY, 21:21 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> ""I hate it when dudes try to chase me  
> But I love it when you try to save me  
> ‘Cause I'm just a lady (Ah)  
> I love it when we play 1950  
> It's so cold that your stare's 'bout to kill me  
> I'm surprised when you kiss me
> 
> So tell me why my Gods look like you  
> And tell me why it's wrong
> 
> So I'll wait for you, I'll pray  
> I will keep on waiting for your love  
> For you, I'll wait  
> I will keep on waiting for your"
> 
> 1950, King Princess

“We haven’t studied all day,” Hermione observes.

Pansy smirks. “Good. My plan is working.”

Hermione bursts into laughter, unable to help herself. She grins at Pansy, and Pansy’s smirk softens into a returned smile. Her face is lit strangely in the low candlelight of the pub. She lifts her amber beer in a cheer before she takes a sip of the pint. Hermione takes a sip of her own pint, her nose wrinkling at the strange taste.

“You don't like beer?” Pansy asks.

“I don’t really drink beer,” Hermione says with a shrug.

Pansy hums. “Do you drink at all?”

“Sometimes. It’s haram, so I’m not supposed to, but...I do, sometimes,” Hermione says. She sighs to herself, because she doesn’t want to think about how she struggles. She struggles, believing wholly in Allah and then, wanting so badly to _fit._

“Okay. Cool. I hope you don’t feel like you have to because of me,” Pansy says, and then, she leaves it there and Hermione is so grateful that she does.

“No, I don’t. I feel...comfortable with you,” Hermione admits, and Pansy smiles slowly.

“Good,” she whispers, “I’m glad.”

Hermione leans back in her chair and sips her beer. She tilts back her head, observing Pansy.

Pansy grins. “What?”

“You just look...very...different,” Hermione says. “From how you look at Hogwarts.”

“So do you,” Pansy retorts playfully.

“Oh?” Hermione challenges, quirking her eyebrows. “You look less...intimidating. Softer.”

“You look happier,” Pansy says sharply.

Hermione gapes. “I—”

“Not in that you’re unhappy at Hogwarts. Not at all. But, you’re not so buttoned up. You look like how’d you look if you let yourself. Like how you’d want to if you didn’t have to look how people expect you to look,” Pansy explains. She pauses and smiles. “I really like the buns.”

Hermione doesn’t even press back. She smiles, feeling lighter, because Pansy _sees_ her. “Thanks.” She clears her throat, shaking her head. “Anyway, you _distracted_ me. You wanted to study today, I thought.”

“No. I...wanted to see you,” Pansy corrects, trying out the words, as if measuring how honest they are. She beams when they seem to be completely true.

Hermione’s heart clenches. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah. I enjoy being around you,” Pansy says. She hums to herself. “What’s the best book you’ve ever read?”

“The Book Thief,” Hermione says almost immediately. “What about you?”

“It’s a Muggle book. _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ ,” Pansy says wistfully.

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez,” Hermione says softly. “When’d you read that?’

“During my...sabbatical,” Pansy says with an ironic twist to her mouth. “I read it over and over again. It’s...it’s profound, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never read it,” Hermione says honestly.

Pansy sits up taller. “I’ll have to lend it to you, then, princess,” Pansy declares. She taps her fingers against the table, taking another sip of beer. “So...favorite color?”

“Periwinkle,” Hermione says immediately. “And you?”

Pansy nods. “Amber. I feel like that might be oddly specific, but it’s very soothing to me.”

“I understand that. Periwinkle is rather specific too, isn’t it?” Hermione insists. And then, something in her possesses her. She swallows hard and asks, “Hair or eyes?”

And Pansy stares at her for a long moment and whispers, “Your hair. _Your_ eyes.”

Hermione’s face blazes hot and she looks down at the table, sipping her nearly untouched beer, refusing to look up at Pansy again until she can get the thundering of her heart under control. And then, before she can muster up the courage again, there are two shadows hovering over them. Hermione looks up and frowns.

It’s two Muggle men, just a few years older than either of them.

“Can we help you?” Hermione asks slowly.

“Absolutely,” the first chirps. “Your number will suffice.”

The second guffaws, like it’s some great joke. Hermione glances over at Pansy, but Pansy simply raises an eyebrow.

“Our...number,” Pansy drawls. “No, thank you.”

The first falters. “I’m sorry?”

“We are politely declining your question. Goodbye,” Pansy says swiftly.

The second’s laughter tapers off and he frowns. “You don’t have to be rude—”

“Oh, my dear, you haven't seem rude, yet,” Pansy snarls. “So, leave before I _have_ to be. I’m not _nearly_ as pretty when I’m rude.”

And it’s like her entire face transforms. Her face and eyes seem sharper and her bright red lips curl back into a sneer. The two men startle and slink away almost immediately, like they’ve suddenly decided that she’s not worth it.

Hermione can’t _stop_ grinning.

Pansy frowns at her. “What?”

“You’re very impressive,” Hermione sighs.

Pansy softens again. “I…” she starts, and then stops. She sighs. “Let’s go outside. It’s too hot in here.”

She slaps down too many notes, but she doesn’t seem to care as she stands and drains the rest of her beer. She doesn’t seem to mind that Hermione’s barely touched hers. Pansy doesn’t look over her shoulder to make sure that Hermione’s following. She’s just so sure that she is, and Hermione hovers in the doorway of the pub when she sees Pansy standing there.

Pansy finally turns to look at her and she holds her hand out.

Hermione would follow her anywhere, she thinks in that one moment.

And it’s raining.

It’s always raining in London. It’s always raining somewhere in Britain.

Hermione tilts her head up as she stands in the middle of the pavement, people rushing around her. She closes her eyes, and lets the rain wash over her skin, feels it soak her curls. She can think of four reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this.

_(_

  1. _When her hair dries, it’ll be a tangled, frizzy mess._
  2. _She’ll catch a cold._
  3. _She’s blocking—)_



“Hermione.”

Hermione opens her eyes.

Pansy is right there, staring down at her with a _look_ on her face.

The rain has stripped her bare.

Her black hair clings to the back of her neck, and she looks even paler and big-eyed in the London night, lit only by the streetlamps. Pansy lifts a shaking hand to Hermione’s neck, and it feels hot like a brand against the cool, rain-sticky skin. Hermione swallows hard as Pansy steps closer, lifts another hand, just shy of touching Hermione’s cheek. Hermione reaches up and takes Pansy’s hand in hers, clasps it to her chest.

And then, she leans up.

Pansy’s lips meet hers.

Hermione feels unleashed. She stands on her toes, wraps her arms around Pansy’s neck and kisses her back just as hard. Pansy laughs into her mouth and tastes like cherry chapstick and something savory and like beer. Hermione giggles back, their tongues tangling, lips moving together and she feels Pansy’s soft chest against hers, Pansy’s thick hair against her knuckles.

Pansy pulls back once, gasping, shuddering.

Hermione stares up at her, wide-eyed, waiting for the moment to end.

Pansy sighs. “Merlin, I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you that—” Pansy whispers and then, she leans again.

Hermione meets her halfway.


	26. SUNDAY, 8:31 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they wonder, 'how many hermiones and pansys are there in the universe?'
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Give me a run for my money  
> There is nobody, no one to outrun me  
> (Another world premiere!)  
> So give me a run for my money  
> Sippin' bubbly, feelin’ lovely, livin' lovely  
> Just love me  
> I wanna be with you, ayy, I wanna be with  
> Just love me, just love me, just love  
> I wanna be with you, ayy, I wanna be with  
> Love me  
> I wanna be with you  
> Love me, just love me"
> 
> -LOVE. FEAT. ZACARI. Kendrick Lamar

Hermione hums, pressing herself closer. She wants to be closer, closer, and she’s as close as she can be, and it’s still not enough. Pansy’s thumb feels warm in the hollow beneath Hermione’s ear as she cups her jaw. Hermione goes easily, twists closer, tosses a thigh over Pansy’s waist, and she kisses her easily.

Each kiss, each touch, comes easier.

And Hermione is warm and soft and safe.

There is no uncertainty in the way she kisses Pansy or the way Pansy kisses her.

It’s lazy morning kisses and softness and something _deeper_ that Hermione is distantly terrified of naming. Hermione pulls back, a soft wet smack punctuating the end of their kiss and she looks at Pansy.

Pansy has a bewildered smile on her face.

“What?” Hermione whispers, afraid of shattering the cocoon of comfort around them.

Pansy shakes her head, leaning up, balancing on an elbow. “Nothing.”

“ _What_?”

“God, you’re beautiful,” Pansy whispers, reaching forward, brushing Hermione’s curls, crumpled and frizzy, from her face.

Hermione laughs. “Have you seen yourself?” she challenges. “Wallah, the first thing I noticed about you was how beautiful you are.”

Pansy shakes her head, still staring at Hermione in disbelief. “No, but you’re...you’re everything,” she whispers, and she sounds almost afraid, like she’s admitting too much too fast. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

But, Hermione is comforted.

She’s not alone in feeling the enormity of these feelings.

She sits up, kisses Pansy’s neck, sliding closer. Into the delicate skin, she whispers, “So are you.”

* * *

They wake in starts and stops, sometimes drifting off together, sometimes one awake and the other asleep, and vice versa. Always, the other is a constant source of heat.

The next time Hermione wakes up, the sun is higher in the sky, and she sighs as the sunbeams reach across the bedspread, touching the tips of her fingers by her face on the pillow. She feels the heat of Pansy behind her, feels Pansy’s lips on the nape of her neck, gentle and sweet. Hermione hums, pressing back against her, and Pansy’s hand lands on her waist, trails down to her hip.

Hermione stares at the yellow curtains, and listens to Pansy hum.

Pansy’s humming turns into singing, soft and gentle and far more beautiful than what she’d been doing in Tesco’s.

“You _can_ sing,” Hermione says roughly.

Pansy pauses. You’re awake.” Her voice sounds rougher when she’s not singing.

So, she fell asleep again too.

“Where are we?” Hermione asks softly.

Pansy hums.

“It’s my flat. It was my base when I took a sabbatical,” Pansy says.

Hermione hums. “It’s close to St. Mungo’s,” she observes. She waits for Pansy to say something, to respond. Pansy doesn’t, burying her nose in Hermione’s hair, inhaling deeply. “Pansy—”

“Hermione…” Pansy sighs. “Not...not today. Soon, but not today.”

Hermione sighs back. “I’ll hold you to that, Pansy.” If she were talking to anyone else, she’d sound severe and no-nonsense, but God, this girl makes her feels so weak; she’s so weak for Pansy Parkinson, and she can’t seem to find anything wrong with that.

“Do you know that you were the first person I saw when I got back to Hogwarts? I arrived through Snape’s Floo and went to the library and you...were the first person I saw,” Pansy whispers. It sounds so intimate that Hermione shivers, pressing back into her. Pansy drapes a thigh over Hermione’s hips, tugging her in closer.

“Really?” Hermione hums. “What did you think?”

“You reminded me of the sun,” Pansy admits in a hushed voice.

Hermione sighs and grabs Pansy’s hand, presses it to her stomach, feels the heat and weight through the borrowed white t-shirt. She pulls Pansy’s hand higher, and Pansy’s hand curves around her breast.

It should feel sexual.

It doesn’t, but it is intimacy.

It’s _intimate_ , and somehow, that scares Hermione more. That makes Hermione _want_ more, and God, she feels seen. Hermione feels wanted and safe and _seen_.

“My friends...don’t know about me,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy hums. “I can tell.”

Hermione turns in Pansy’s arms, shuffles closer to her. Pansy stares at her with a softness to her. She curls around Hermione, pulls Hermione’s face to her chest.

“Do your friends...does your boy—” Hermione stops, shaking her head.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Pansy says. Hermione looks up at her. “He’s not. Draco’s my friend, but he’s not my boyfriend. And yeah, my friends know about me. Why don’t yours? You don’t trust them?”

Hermione swallows hard.

“I...I do,” Hermione whispers. “I just...I don’t want _another_ reason to be different. I’m Black. I’m Arab. I’m a Muslim. I’m a Muggleborn. So many things that make me different.”

“So many things that make you _wonderful_ ,” Pansy says firmly. “So many things that make you, you. God, you’re amazing. I’d write a song about you.”

Hermione laughs gently. “Called what?”

“‘The girl who was afraid of the sun’. Your own sun,” Pansy whispers.

Hermione sobers.

“You think I should tell them.”

“I think that you should be okay being who you are. And _loving_ who you are. Because anyone that knows you...couldn’t _help_ but love you,” Pansy confesses to the top of Hermione’s head.

Hermione can think of so many reasons why she shouldn’t come out. She can list them out.

_(1. Being a lesbian is different from being gay_.

  1. _Her mother and father won't love her anymore._
  2. _Being a lesbian and Muslim cannot be right._
  3. _Being a lesbian Muslim Muggleborn witch is too much—)_



“Where I have a choice to make, I make lists. And I tell myself that there are other Hermiones, in parallel universes, who took the other path, so that I never have to wonder about the choice that I make,” Hermione confesses.

Pansy pauses and slides down the bed until she’s nose to nose with Hermione.

“What about now? Think about the Hermione who _does_ come out. The Hermione who will be loved and cherished. By her friends. By her _parents_. Doesn’t she deserve a chance?” Pansy whispers.

Hermione sighs. “Maybe. _Maybe_. I...I’m not sure.”

“Okay, you don’t have to be. But, just know that there’s a Hermione out there who has it all,” Pansy whispers softly. She bites her bottom lip. “How many Pansys and Hermiones are in the universe?”

“Too many to count. Some of them are together. Some of them aren’t. Some of them are witches. Some of them aren’t,” Hermione whispers back.

Pansy leans closer. “I prefer the universes where they’re together. Witch or no.”

And Hermione bites her bottom lip and leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to Pansy’s lips. She gets closer and Pansy sighs into it.

It’s as easy as breathing.

When they part, Hermione whispers, “Me too, ya amar. Me too.”


	27. MONDAY, 8:17 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione comes back
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Love, let's talk about love  
> Is it anything and everything you hoped for?  
> Or do the feeling haunt you? (Haunt)  
> I know the feeling haunt you (Haunt)"
> 
> -All The Stars, Kendrick Lamar & SZA

“Hermione! Hermione’s back!”

Hermione grins because she hears Lavender before she sees her. She makes her way into the Great Hall, nervously brushing a curl behind her ear. She smiles to herself, tugging on the end of it as she finally comes into view of half of the Defence Squad. Ginny and Lavender both get up on their knees on the bench, waving Hermione over.

Harry grins, pressed between them.

Before Hermione can get to them, someone collides with her back and arms wrap around her middle. Hermione looks over her shoulder.

“Hello to you too, Luna,” Hermione says with a soft smile.

“Hello! I like your hair! It looks very pretty,” Luna says.

Self-consciously, Hermione presses her hand to her style. It’s the two buns with the rest hanging down. She bites her bottom lip and asks, “You think so?”

“It looks great, Hermione!”

Hermione turns further in Luna’s arms to see Ron, coming in behind her.

“I guess I came to breakfast at a good time,” Hermione says cheerfully. She untangles herself from Luna and marches towards the table, sitting across from them. She looks at all of them as they lean forward, staring at her with stupid smiles and wide eyes. “What?”

“Hermione, don’t leave ever again,” Harry says. “We could barely function without you. Do you know you’ve got us on a schedule? We quite literally didn’t know what to do with ourselves.”

Hermione snorts, rolling her eyes. “You and Ron are nearly adults! What do you mean you didn’t know what to do with yourselves?”

“It was _awful_ ,” Lavender says dramatically. “No one to tell us to go to dinner or to do our homework. I was up until four this morning doing my Arithmancy problem set.”

Hermione sighs good-naturedly. “ _Lavender_ —”

“I know,” Lavender insists. “I do really like your hair, Hermione. You should wear it in cute styles like that more often!”

Luna hums. “I said the same,” she says as she helps herself to breakfast. The Quibbler drops on her plate just as she puts down a piece of bacon. She barely startles, simply arranging her bacon and eggs on the front page. “It’s fine. Father has started to charm it with the Impervius Charm. No more food stains!”

Ron snorts.

“Well, I was in Muggle London and _I_ managed to do my homework,” Hermione teases.

The others groan.

Hermione grins, because even now she can feel their love. She can feel it, she can _see_ how much they missed her. She sits there and doesn’t make a move to get breakfast.

She’s fasting today.

“How was iftar?” Luna asks.

Hermione pauses. Stares at her wide-eyed.

“What?” Hermione whispers.

Luna looks up at her, owl-eyed. “Iftar. Ron explained that you went home because you’re Muslim, and you are celebrating Ramadan. And we read about it, and you break your fast with iftar, right? That’s why you’re fasting, right?”

Hermione swallows around the knot in her throat.

“Yes,” she whispers. She looks at the others. No one comments on her empty plate. They just stare at her, all smiling. “You...where did you learn about this?”

Ron shrugs next to her. “I explained it to Ginny and Luna, and Luna _is_ a Ravenclaw. She wanted to know more, and so did we. We asked Madame Pince for some books. She’s _right_ scary. I don’t understand why you like her, Hermione, honestly,” Ron says with a shrug.

Hermione’s shoulders drop and takes a shaky breath.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Lavender asks quietly.

Ginny swallows. “Did we...did we do something wrong?”

“Hermione,” Harry says. That’s all he says.

Hermione looks up at them and beams. “No, you didn’t do _anything_ wrong,” she whispers, unable to help the tremble in her voice. “You didn’t have to learn about Islam.”

“Of course we did,” Harry says firmly. “You’re our _friend_. We should know about you. We _want_ to know you. All of you.”

Hermione nods slowly. She looks over at Luna who is still waiting for an answer to her question.

“Iftar was really good. My weekend was _really_ good.”

“Well, that’s good. Ramadan Mubarak,” Luna says.

And her pronunciation is _perfect_.

Hermione bites her bottom to keep from weeping. “Thank you,” she says gently.

Luna smiles and knocks her shoulder against Hermione’s. Very carefully, she says, “You look happy, Hermione.”

And somehow, Hermione knows she’s not just talking about this.

Hermione _knows_ she’s talking about more.

About _her_.

“I am,” Hermione whispers.

Luna nods. “Good. You deserve to be happy.”


	28. TUESDAY, 4:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and pansy get to _know_ one another.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "That's just the way you make me feel  
> (That's just the way you make me feel)  
> That's just the way you make me feel  
> (That's just the way you make me feel)  
> So good, so good, so fuckin' real  
> (So good, so good, so fuckin' real)  
> That's just the way you make me feel  
> (That's just the way you make me feel)  
> That's just the way you make me feel"
> 
> -Make Me Feel, Janelle Monaé

“Now, this...this is something, isn’t it?”

Hermione turns, grinning at Pansy as she walks backwards into the Room of Requirement, holding her arms wide open.

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement,” Hermione declares.

“This is...I’ve never been here. How did you find this place?” Pansy asks in wonder, her gaze flitting over the room.

It’s different from Harry’s Room. While many of the floor pillows are the same, there’s gold curtains draped over the walls, as if hiding the glass mirrors. Across the far wall are ceiling-tall bookshelves, stuffed with books from all around the world. Hermione flushes, embarrassed when she sees the big bed tucked against the left wall.

She didn’t  _ mean  _ for that to show up.

But, Pansy doesn’t notice it immediately. She walks along the edge of the room, looking at everything, wide-eyed. She drags her fingers over the bookshelves, and frowns to herself. Hermione gasps when she sees what materializes by the fireplace.

It’s a box of records and a phonograph, big and gleaming.

Pansy grins. She goes forward, inspect the records. “Hmmm, Stromae  _ and  _ Lauryn Hill. The Room truly knows all,” Pansy teases.

“It’s the Room of Requirement. Anything you require, you received. Harry...Harry found it, and I wanted to show you,” Hermione admits.

Pansy turns, finally taking notice of the bed. She quirks an eyebrow and slowly slinks forward. Hermione swallows around the knot of lust and then, Pansy is right there, hand curling at Hermione’s jaw, tugging her head up.

“Anything I  _ require _ ?” Pansy purrs and then, she leans down, laying a soft kiss to Hermione’s lips. She pulls back and grins before she tugs Hermione towards the bed, leaping onto it and pulling Hermione with her. Pansy lands with a huff. “Oof! This is quite soft.”

“Pansy!” Hermione starts and Pansy tugs her down, wrapping herself about Hermione like an octopus.

Pansy giggles, kissing the top of Hermione’s head. “Shh, princess, let’s bask in your very princess bed.”

Hermione groans. “Pansy, you’re impossible!”

“Shh, babe,” Pansy says.

Hermione shivers at that one.

Pansy hums. “Oh, you like that one, eh?”

“Don’t  _ tease  _ me,” Hermione warns.

Pansy giggles and she rolls over, sitting up against the headboard. She stares at Hermione with wide eyes, and crooks a finger at her. “So, don’t...tease...me,” Pansy purrs and Hermione’s drawn in, like a sailor to a siren.

She crawls forward, between Pansy’s thighs and kisses her. Hermione loses herself in it, the way their lips move together, the way their tongues tangle. Pansy’s hands smooth up her thighs, to her waist, and she tugs her forward until Hermione’s half-straddling her lap, hands wrapped around her neck.

Hermione hums, pressing even closer as she feels herself get more and more turned on, feels her folds get wet and she gasps as she grinds down, trying to find friction against Pansy’s thigh. Pansy hums, running her hands up Hermione’s back, around to cup her breast, and Hermione wants to  _ touch  _ her. She wants to touch her everywhere.

Pansy pulls back, staring Hermione in the eye.

“Can I...unbutton your shirt?” Hermione blurts out.

Pansy’s eyes widen. “Yes. Yes,  _ please _ . And  _ I  _ will return the favor.”

Hermione plucks open Pansy’s shirt and for each button, Pansy returns the favor. Hermione bites her bottom lip as she looks at Pansy. Pansy’s small breasts, cradled in a black lace bra. She reaches forward, kissing the middle of Pansy’s throat and trails her kisses down until she presses a soft kiss to the swell of her left breast.

And Pansy  _ moans _ .

Hermione gasps, because she  _ always  _ wants to be the one to make Pansy sound like that. She sucks and Pansy groans, pulling Hermione in tighter.

“O-oh, hold on Hermione…” Pansy groans.

Hermione pulls away sharply, staring at her.

Pansy stares at her hungrily, eyes trailing over her body, and Hermione forgets to feel self-conscious, forgets to feel anything but  _ wanted _ .

“I’d like to go down on you,” Pansy whispers.

Hermione gasps, staring at Pansy with wide eyes. Pansy smirks.

“So... _ that’s  _ why you aren’t wearing red lipstick,” Hermione says dumbly.

Pansy throws her head back and laughs. She crawls forward and presses a quick kiss to Hermione’s lips. She leans back only a breath and whispers, “Can I go down on you?”

“Yes,” Hermione breathes.

And then, Pansy twists underneath her.

“Oof!” Hermione says, breath knocked out of her as she’s flat on her back. Pansy slides between her legs, running her hands up her thighs where her skirt has gone up around her waist. Hermione looks down, face hot. “I just...wow, I’ve never done this. Cunnilingus. Receiving or...otherwise.”

Pansy looks up, quirking an eyebrow. “I  _ got  _ that from the way you said ‘cunnilingus’.” Hermione swallows hard, looking away even as Pansy kisses the inside of her thigh. “That’s hot. You being all intellectual about it.”

“I’m intellectual about everything,” Hermione says, letting out a rush of breath as Pansy spreads her thighs wider and sucks a bruise against the sensitive skin.

“Exactly,” Pansy says with a wink and then her hands are brushing front of Hermione’s knickers, reaching for the waistband. She pauses, watching Hermione for permission.

And Hermione lifts her hips.

Pansy hums as she tugs Hermione’s underwear down her hips, her thighs.

And somehow, Hermione isn’t embarrassed as Pansy kisses her thighs again, kisses up and settles between her legs. Hermione stares her in the eye and then Pansy brings her lips to her folds. A soft keen leaves her lips as Pansy’s tongue drags up her folds, her fingers just there, brushing over her pubic hair, over her clit.

Hermione’s hand finds its way into Pansy’s hair, and she tugs.

“O-oh, sorry,” Hermione says breathily.

Pansy hums and Hermione twitches violently, thrusting up and Pansy laughs there, breathlessly. Pansy pulls back, staring up at her.

“Do  _ not  _ apologize,” she whispers, voice hoarse with lust, husky with want. “If you do something I don’t like, I’ll let you know. And you’ll do the same.”

And then, she dives back in, lapping at Hermione’s wetness, and Hermione sinks into it.

This the most inherently sexual thing that she’s ever done. Hermione’s never done anything like this. Before Pansy, she’d never considered doing this. She’d pushed every thought into the shadowy corners of her mind, and she doesn’t want that now. She wants, she wants,  _ she wants _ .

She moans louder and louder, writhing under Pansy’s fingers, Pansy’s tongue.

This is intimate. This is the most intimate thing that’s ever happened to her, that she’s ever done and Hermione touches Pansy’s hair, because she needs to know it’s real. She needs to know this is real.

Pansy’s tongue flicks over her tongue.

And she  _ cums _ .

Hermione gasps, feeling pleasure rolling through her, her hands shaking with it, and then, Pansy’s there, carrying her through it, kissing her neck, kissing her chest, holding her until Hermione can start to hold herself together again.

“That was...that was…” Hermione gasps.

Pansy grins. “Good?”

“ _ Excellent _ . I grade you at an Outstanding,” Hermione teases breathily. Pansy giggles.

“Good, I’m glad,” she whispers, turning towards her. Pansy falls back against the pillow, smiling at her. “I’m glad I could make you feel good.”

Hermione hums and leans forward, pressing a kiss to Pansy’s lips, tasting herself on the other girl’s tongue. She pulls back as Pansy rolls onto her back.

“Do you feel like a virgin still?” Pansy asks. Her hair is spread across the white pillow, and she looks like an angel. Hermione hums, tucking herself into Pansy’s side, hiding her face in the sharpness of her collarbone.

“I don’t...know,” Hermione says. “I mean, I know, intellectually, that virginity is a social construct. But, when it’s two women—”

“Virginity has nothing to do with being inside of someone else. That’s heteronormativity. We had sex. This was sex, and it was really great,” Pansy declares. She snuggles even closer and sighs into Hermione’s hair, kissing the top of her head.

“Okay. We had sex,” Hermione whispers, and she can’t help the slow smile spreading across her face.

She presses a kiss to Pansy’s collarbone.

“Hermione...have you ever...masturbated?” Pansy asks.

Hermione’s face grows hot and she half sits up so she can look at Pansy properly. “Um...no.”

“You should.  _ We  _ should,” Pansy says eagerly. She rolls to face Hermione head on. “I bet you’d look so  _ amazing _ ...so beautiful—”

And Hermione wants to. She can imagine just touching herself, reaching down to bring herself pleasure while Pansy does the same. Even the thought makes her throb between her legs, makes her want to get closer and closer. And yet—

It’s  _ Ramadan _ .

She swallows hard around the sudden knot of guilt in her throat. She turns and shakes her head.

“I...I don’t…”

“Okay, we don’t have to,” Pansy says immediately.

She doesn’t sound sad or upset. She says it with a shrug and a tiny smile.

Hermione stares at her, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Of course, princess. We never do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Pansy says with a smile and she leans forward, kissing the tip of Hermione’s nose. “Now, come here, I want to cuddle more.”

Hermione grins, because  _ that  _ she can do.


	29. THURSDAY, 4:35 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione finds it all too impossible. in which hermione is tired.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "You treat me like your boyfriend  
> And trust me like a... like a very best friend  
> You kiss me like your boyfriend  
> You call me up like you want your best friend  
> You turn me on like you want your boyfriend  
> But I don't want to be your secret anymore"
> 
> -Boyfriend, Teagan and Sara

Hermione gasps as Pansy’s teeth lightly sink into her neck and Pansy sucks on the sensitive skin there. She presses back harder into the bookcase, feeling a shelf dig into the small of her back.

Softly, she whispers, “Pansy...we should...we should really work.”

“Should we?” Pansy hums, her hands falling to Hermione’s hips. She tugs her forward, pressing up against her. “Merlin, you taste good. You always taste good.”

Hermione groans.

This is not like her. She doesn’t _kiss_ people in libraries, especially girls that look like Pansy _fucking_ Parkinson, all pretty and lovely and mysterious. And yet, here she is, sneaking around with a girl that _is_ Pansy fucking Parkinson. Losing herself in a girl that’s Pansy Parkinson.

She pulls back, staring at Pansy and then she dives in, taking over, licking into Pansy’s mouth. She chases Pansy to the opposite bookshelf, pressing her back, leaning up and devouring and Pansy gives and gives as Hermione _takes_. Hermione is greedy, and she finally feels good about it.

Hermione hums, pressing one hand to Pansy’s hip, the other to Pansy’s jaw, guiding her face _just_ so.

Pansy moans into her mouth and lets her head fall back against the bookshelf.

“I thought you never kissed anyone before Weasley,” Pansy drawls.

Hermione smirks. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the top witch of our year. I’m a _very_ quick study,” Hermione murmurs, pressing a kiss to Pansy’s neck.

Pansy hums. “Hope you’re only studying _me_.”

“Of course,” Hermione whispers. She goes to kiss Pansy again, and then, she pauses, staring up at her with shrewd eyes. “And...you’re only studying me, right?”

Pansy blinks owlishly. “What? Of course, Hermione, who else would I be kissing?” Pansy mutters.

Hermione frowns, and tries not to think of his name.

Even still, she doesn’t feel much like kissing anymore.

“We should...we should work,” Hermione mutters and she takes a step back, feeling suddenly very cold.

Pansy frowns at her. “Are you upset at me, princess?”

Hermione sighs. “No, Pansy.” She presses a quick kiss to Pansy’s cheek. “But, I _do_ think we need to work.” Pansy sighs, as if it’s some great task. Hermione’s mouth twitches as she leads Pansy back to their table. Hermione pulls her wand very precisely casts, “ _Muffliato_.”

“Oh, what spell is that?” Pansy asks.

“A Muffling Charm. Learned it from Harry who learned it from his godfather,” Hermione explains. She sits down at the table and pulls out her notes. She clears her throat. “So, how’s your research going on the bone script? Have you found anything?”

“My mum went home to Nara last week. She brought some things back and she’s translating the kanji for me. My Japanese reading comprehension isn’t very good.”

Hermione nods, checking it off her mental list. “Okay, good. I’ve found a few resources for—”

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Pansy asks, her voice going sharp. Hermione swallows hard and looks away. “Don’t tell me that there isn’t anything wrong. I _know_ there is. You’re not very subtle.”

Hermione sighs, drumming her fingers on the table.

“Okay, so, I...you never answered my question about your flat. Why do you have a flat in London?” Hermione asks, because it’s the only place she knows where to start.

Her head thunders with so many questions, but it’s that one—the easiest one—that she forms into words.

Even still, Pansy shuts down. Looks away.

“Because I lived there. You know that.”

“You said that day, ‘not today’--”

“Not today, either,” Pansy says sharply. “Why does it matter?”

Hermione sighs. “It does...and it doesn’t? You’re so comfortable in the Muggle world. And you live in a flat near St. Mungo’s. And you smoke for medicinal reasons. And...Pansy, what are you sick—”

“It’s _none_ of your business,” Pansy snarls.

Hermione flinches, wounded. “I...I care about you. You _are_ my business—”

“I’m _really_ not,” Pansy hisses.

Hermione shoves her hurt away, exchanging for irritation. “Oh, but you're Draco Malfoy’s business?” she asks.

Pansy lets out a harsh laugh. “No, it’s _not_ , but he’s there anyway.”

“Yeah, I _noticed_.” Hermione looks away.

“Hermione, he’s my _best_ friend—”

“He’s also a bigot,” Hermione spits. Pansy doesn’t have anything to say to that. Hermione laughs in her face, bitter and mean. “Yeah, exactly. I just...I don’t know why you _hang out_ with him.”

“We grew up together, Hermione. He’s _always_ been there for me—”

“ _I’m_ here for you. I would be, if you let me,” Hermione insists.

Pansy scoffs. “Oh, like I could be there, if you let _me_? Like your _friends_ could be there, if you let _them_?” Pansy asks. “Come on, Hermione, don’t throw stones at glass houses.”

“So, another Muggle turn of phrase,” Hermione deadpans. Pansy looks away, glaring into space, and Hermione can only sigh, because she’s so tired. “This is impossible.”

Pansy pauses. “ _What_?”

“We’re so different. It’s impossible,” Hermione says clinically, because it’s easy to wash her hands of it, if she’s logical about it. Hermione and Pansy aren’t. Logical.

Pansy sits up taller. “Hermione, what the _fuck_? We get into one fight and you want to just—”

She stops.

“What?” Hermione asks. She dares. She _dares_ Pansy to say the words, ‘break up’ because then Pansy will have to admit that they’re together.

Pansy doesn’t say it.

Instead, she laughs, incredulously. “You’re _absurd,_ princess. Just because we’re a little _different_ —”

“We’re very different. You’re a Slytherin. I’m a Gryffindor—”

“You’re basing this off of _Houses_? That’s bullshit,” Pansy says sharply. She glares at Hermione. “Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. They’re making it work perfectly.”

And Pansy has no idea that it’s not perfect. But, Hermione knows.

Hermione knows that Tom and Harry are _far_ from perfect. They have to work hard, every _single_ day, and they already have far more in common than Pansy and Hermione. Hermione shakes her head, and looks away because it’s more than that. It’s so much _more_.

“You know all of me, and I know _nothing_ of you,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy pushes forward until she’s almost on the very edge of the table. “You know that I was gone. You know that I have a credit card, that I love Muggle music. You know that I _sing_. So, don’t tell me you know nothing. That’s _not_ true.”

“Isn’t it?” Hermione challenges. “You hide _everything_. You hide why you were gone last semester. I _know_ that you were ill, but I found that out from someone else. You hide me from your friends. You hide—”

“I’m not the only one hiding,” Pansy snaps. “But, _you’re_ afraid. You’re afraid of being who you _are_.”

“And you’re a fucking hypocrite.” There’s a beat of silence. Hermione swallows hard. “I know who I am. I am a Muslim. I am a Muggleborn. I am a _lesbian_. I’ve always known what I am. I’m not afraid of it, just because I want to keep it to myself.”

Pansy scoffs.

“Yeah, and I don’t want to?”

“Pansy, you know all of me. All of what I am. And I know _nothing_ of you. I trusted _you_ with me, but you won’t return the favor,” Hermione says sharply. “It’s not about anyone else.”

“Hermione—”

“Look at us,” Hermione whispers to herself. She shakes her head, and lets out a sour laugh. Tuesday feels so far away. “We’re impossible.”

They work in silence.


	30. FRIDAY, 6:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, it doesn't make sense. it doesn't make _sense_.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Bitch, I'm back out my coma  
> Wakin' up on your sofa  
> When I park my Range Rover  
> Slightly scratch your Corolla  
> Okay, I smashed your Corolla  
> I'm hangin' on a hangover  
> Five years we been over  
> Ask me why I came over"
> 
> Hold My Liquor, Kanye West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case AO3 ate your emails, please read yesterday’s chapter before this one!

Hermione doesn’t always trust her instincts.

Instincts are always conducive with logic. Instincts are inherently illogical.

And yet, today, she wishes that she’d trusted them.

As she stands by the Hogwarts gates with Luna and Lavender, she hums, wishing that she was locked in the library like she prefers to be on Friday evenings.

Lavender sighs, close to stomping her foot like a child. “Where _are_ they?”

“I’m sure they’re nearly done with practice,” Luna says patiently. She doesn’t look very upset with the fact that they’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes too long, instead picking dandelions out from the worn creases in the stone. She braids the stem together, a long chain in her hands.

“What are you doing?” Hermione sighs.

Luna smiles. “Braiding a dandelion crown for you. Like a princess.”

Hermione flinches. “I’m not a princess,” she snaps.

“I didn’t say you were,” Luna insists. She says it lightly, like she has no idea what that _word_ means, and Hermione has to remind herself—convince herself—that she doesn’t. “But, I think you’ll look pretty.”

Hermione smiles weakly. It falls away easily. She turns away.

“Hey! Hey, sorry we’re late!” Ginny crows.

Hermione looks back at the castle as Ginny and Ron run, Harry trailing behind them. The Weasleys rush to a stop, bending over, gasping. They look up with wide eyes, smiling.

“Hey, hey,” Ron says.

“How was Quidditch?” Hermione asks.

Ron grins. “It was _excellent_. Harry’s a bit ridiculous though.”

“We have _one_ more game tomorrow. If we win, we win the Cup, so excuse me if I want us in tip top shape. That means _no_ drinking,” Harry warns, sharply.

Both Weasleys groan, but Harry doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“Well, now that we’re all _here_ , where are we off to?” Lavender asks.

“I can’t be out long,” Hermione starts. “I have work—”

“We _all_ have work, Hermione. But, it’s Friday. It’s okay to rest,” Ginny drawls, linking one arm through Hermione’s.

Hermione frowns down at the ground, already feeling this strange sinking feeling in her belly.

Tomorrow is Eid al-Fitr. She wants to do work so she can go home tomorrow. She’s supposed to go _home_. She wants to go home.

“Can we meet the Death Eaters at the Three Broomsticks?” Harry asks, voice quiet. “I haven’t seen Tom much lately.”

“Oh, neither have. Where’s he been?” Lavender asks pleasantly.

Harry hums. “Away. He’s...well, he’s been getting offers from all over. He was in America last week. The French Ministry has offered him a position in their magical justice department,” Harry says quietly. “He leaves tonight, so I want to see him.”

“America?” Ginny says in awe. “What did _they_ offer him?”

“No idea,” Harry says flatly, with a sort of tone that tells Hermione that he has _all_ of the ideas.

Hermione focuses on the irritation in his voice because it distracts her.

“Habibi, are you alright?” Hermione asks softly, leaning in just enough, tugging Ginny with her.

She glances over at Luna and Lavender and Ron, but they seem to have lost enough interest. Ginny frowns over at Harry, reaching across Hermione’s body to touch his arm. Harry shakes his head.

“It’s just...he’s just _frustrating_. It’s fine,” Harry sighs, shaking his head.

“You know you can talk to us, though, right?” Ginny asks.

Harry nods with a weak smile.

They follow the path down to Hogsmeade, and Hermione relaxes as Harry’s smile grows stronger, even as the tension in her belly grows tighter and tighter. She compartmentalizes, shoves it away.

She pretends not to see Lisa Turpin and her girlfriend as they wander into Honeydukes, ahead of them. She pretends not to hear that Lisa has a shift at the Three Broomsticks later.

She pretends not to see the grocer. She pretends not to need dates

She pretends not to see.

“It’s late. Do you think we’ll even get a table?” Luna asks curiously.

“Well, Tom is supposed to be there, so I don’t see why we wouldn’t,” Harry says firmly. Even outside of the Three Broomsticks, Hermione can hear how rowdy it is. She swallows as Harry pushes the door open, an explosion of hot air hitting them in the face.

“Ugh, my hair is going to frizz, it’s so _warm_ ,” Lavender whines.

“Imagine _my_ hair,” Hermione says severely even as she enters the sweltering bar.

It’s packed wall to wall with students, all clamoring over themselves. Hermione pushes through the crowd, eyes piercing as she searches for a table. Ron barely needs to crane his neck.

“That one!” he shouts and then he lunges for it just as two fourth years get to it. He grabs one by the back of the robes and pulls him back just as Ginny nearly tackles the other one. “Sorry, kids, this one’s ours.”

“We got here first!” the girl protests.

“You want to duel for it?” Ginny asks with a rakish grin.

The boy falters, eyes wide. “Fuck. Brit, it’s half of the duelling team,” he whispers.

Brit flushes.

“And if you don’t want to meet the other half, you’ll bugger off now,” Ron drawls. He grins as the pair scamper off. Lavender slides in first, and then he falls into the booth after her, folding his arms behind his head. “Wow, that’ll never get old.”

Hermione narrows her eyes, sliding in after him. “You. Are. A. _Prefect_ ,” she snaps, punctuating each word with a light smack to the arm.

“Oi, Hermione!”

“You’re taking advantage of your privileged authority,” Hermione growls.

“I didn’t even threaten them with taking away points! If anything, I took advantage of my _earned_ authority. I mean, we _did_ earn our win,” Ron points out.

“He has a point, Hermione,” Luna says sweetly.

Ron grins. “See, Luna, says I have a _point_.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and looks over at Harry. She falters when she sees him look around, distracted.

“He’s not here yet,” Harry mutters to himself, looking around.

“But, classes are over for the day,” Lavender says, neck craning around as she kneels up in the booth.

Luna hums. “We would’ve seen them if they left before us, though.”

“Should I get us some butterbeers?” Ginny interrupts.

Harry pauses, eyes narrowing. “He better not have been _working_ ,” he hisses to himself.

Hermione startles as she looks around. “What do you mean working—”

And then. She sees them.

Hermione would recognize her anyway. The shape of her, the cut of her bob, the angle of her jaw. She recognizes those hands, those arms, those legs.

Hermione recognizes him too. Pale hair, pale face, pale neck. The way he kisses her.

Draco kisses her, and Pansy stands there, arms hanging at her sides, and lets it happen.

And Hermione feels her heart break.

She _feels_ it, a physical pain in her ribcage that rattles her teeth. Her knees buckle, but she’s still sitting down, and she can feel the sound she makes in her throat. It’s the keening of a wounded animal, and God, she feels wounded. She feels _broken_. She feels...she _feels_ …

_(Make it make sense, Hermione. Make it make sense._

  1. _She’s here with Draco Malfoy._
  2. _She said that she’s not with him._
  3. _She said that she thought Hermione was beautiful._
  4. _She said—_
  5. _She said—_



_How many Pansys are in the universe? How many Hermiones? How many with broken hearts?_

  1. _All of them—)_



Hermione stands, shoving the table back hard with a loud shriek that cuts through the din of the Three Broomsticks. She’s heaving, her chest tightening with each breath, and her breaths sound close to wheezing. Her hands are _shaking_.

And she can’t look _away._

Finally, Pansy steps back from Malfoy, and Hermione can’t see the expression on her face.

But, she can see the look on Malfoy’s. Their eyes meet, grey to brown.

And he smiles at her.

Pansy whips around and then, she stops breathing.

Hermione’s vision blurs and she shakes her head.

Her head is hot. Her face is hot. And she’s _crying_.

Hermione _runs._

She gets outside and it’s still too hot. It’s nearly fucking _June,_ and it’s too hot in _fucking_ Scotland.

She stops in the middle of the road.

“Hermione!”

Hermione spins around, staring at them.

Defence Squad stares back at her. Ron looks the most concerned and he takes a step forward, hand stretched out.

“ _Don’t_ touch me,” Hermione snarls.

Ron doesn’t stop, taking another step forward. “Hermione, what _happened_?”

Lavender moves with him, her sweet face so _Goddamned_ concerned, her green eyes, and her stupid fucking curls, and the curve of her _fucking_ mouth, and Hermione wishes she still wanted her. Because that would’ve hurt so much fucking _less_.

“Don’t touch me,” Hermione warns again.

Ron’s hand brushes her shoulder and Hermione shoves him. She pulls her wand.

“Hermione, why—” Lavender says, and they’re all talking over each other, trying to get her to hear them.

“ _—_ what’s wrong?”

“You’re okay _—”_

“What the fuck is your _—”_

“Hermione, I’m so sorry,” Luna whispers.

Hermione shakes her head, and she can’t _stop_ crying.

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” she roars, clapping her hands over her ears.

_(It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’tmakesense.Itdoesntmakesense—_

  1. _In one universe, Pansy and Hermione are happy._


  1. _In one universe, Pansy and Hermione are not._


  1. _In one universe, in this universe, in every universe, Hermione is alone—_ )



“What the _fuck_ is your problem?” Ginny demands, stepping forward. She’s pulled her wand, and her eyes are hard as she regards Hermione. “You can’t just _shove_ people, Hermione. What are you, a—”

“What, a Muggle?” Hermione snarls.

Ginny stops, eyes wide.

Hermione takes a shuddering breath. “That’s what you were going to call me, weren’t you? Guess what, Ginny? Go _fuck_ yourself.”

And she runs again, staggering and shoving through the crowds. She stumbles into someone.

She feels hands on her shoulders. She looks up at Rosier, and he stares at her. He looks over her head where the rest of the Defence Squad is chasing after her.

And then, he steps aside.

Hermione runs harder until she’s past the gates of Hogwarts Castle. She runs, runs, runs.

_(MAKEITMAKESENSE.WHYDOESNTITMAKESSENSE—)_

She’s in the Room of Requirement. She’s in _their_ Room. The records. The bookshelves. The bed.

“Don’t let anyone in,” she gasps.

The door melts into the wall.

And Hermione falls to her knees and _screams_.


	31. SATURDAY, 10:32AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione loses her choice.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Press, press, press, press, press  
> Cardi don't need more press  
> Kill 'em all, put them hoes to rest  
> Walk in, bulletproof vest  
> Please tell me who she gon' check  
> Murder scene, Cardi made a mess  
> Pop up, guess who, bitch?  
> Pop up, guess who, bitch?"
> 
> -Press, Cardi B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE see end notes for trigger warning!!

When she wakes up, she knows that they deserve an apology.

She knows that almost immediately.

Hermione sits up in the nest that she’d assembled for herself. She hadn’t wanted to sleep in the bed. It reminded her too much of _her_. Hermione didn’t want to think about her or she’d fall apart again. Hermione couldn’t afford to fall apart. She had somewhere to be.

_(To-Do List:_

  1. _Apologize to Defence Squad._
  2. _Avoid Pansy at all costs._
  3. _Pack to go home._
  4. _Go home and celebrate Eid.)_



It’s a good to-do list. She’s already checking off one.

Hermione won’t even look at Pansy. Not _ever_ again.

“Can I have some clothes?” Hermione asks.

She winces when she sees the most beautiful takchita that she’s ever seen. It’s a beautiful dusty rose and champagne color with gold embroidery. She brushes her fingers over it, and makes a soft sound when she notices the champagne-colored scarf next to it. She wants it _so_ badly.

Even still, she forces out the words. “Normal clothes.”

The takchita doesn’t disappear, but _her_ jeans and one of her sweaters does. Hermione thanks the room and makes quick work of it. She changes and then goes to refresh herself. She swallows hard when she looks into the Room-provided mirror. Her eyes are swollen, and she looks sad.

She _feels_ sad.

Hermione forces it away.

She has a to-do list.

Hermione leaves the Room without a look backwards. As she walks downstairs, she assembles herself. She pushes the emotions down, shuts it _down_ , because it’s unnecessary. Her sadness, her grief, everything is unnecessary. She has a _fucking_ to-do list. It is precise in a way that it makes _sense_ of everything, because Hermione can’t deal with it all falling apart again.

When she finally gets downstairs, she stands outside the Great Hall for a moment.

Takes a deep breath.

She doesn’t notice the two girls leaving, the girls who stare at her and then whisper to each other.

Hermione just needs to apologize.

They deserve an apology, especially before the Quidditch game. She doesn’t think she’ll have time to speak to them after.

She nods to herself and then walks in, lifting her chin.

Hermione walks into the Great Hall.

She walks straight up to the Gryffindor table and then pauses with a frown. She looks up and down it, but their usual spot is empty.

No one’s there yet. 

That’s...unusual.

An unsettled feeling sits in her belly.

Hermione frowns, looking around, but she can’t seem to find _anyone_ in the Defence Squad. Not even Luna at the Ravenclaw table.

And then, she realizes that everyone is _whispering_.

Everyone is whispering and staring at her. Hermione falters by the Gryffindor table. Swallowing hard, she creeps forward. She looks around. Defence Squad isn’t...they aren’t…

“Neville,” Hermione says, voice unnaturally sharp.

Neville falters as he slowly looks up at her. There’s something in his eyes. Pity.

 _No,_ empathy.

“Hermione,” Neville says gently.

Hermione swallows hard. “What...why is everyone look at me?”

Neville looks down at his plate. “I’m _so_ sorry that this is happening,” he says softly.

Hermione spins around, looking at the Hufflepuff table.

She reads Justin Finch-Fletchley’s lips as he stares at her.

“She’s the _lesbian_.”

Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. Her face burns hot and suddenly, she’s light-headed. She turns back to Neville and he’s reaching for her. Seamus and Dean look over at her, awkward but concerned, and they nod at whatever Neville’s saying.

Neville’s talking, but Hermione can’t hear anything over _everything else_.

“—heard she had some kind of crush on Pansy Parkinson.”

“I’d be so uncomfortable. Like not everyone’s a lesbian—”

“That’s hot, right? Buttoned-up girl like Granger—”

Everyone’s _talking_ , and Hermione can’t find any of the Defence Squad. There’s just a sea of faces, eyes trying to catch her. She swallows around the knot in her throat, and her hands are shaking. She whips around, looking towards the Slytherin table.

Looking _anywhere_ for Pansy.

And Pansy’s not there.

Pansy’s not _fucking_ there.

But, Malfoy is.

Malfoy sits at the end of the Slytherin table, his chin balanced on one hand. He looks bored, staring at Hermione. And then, he lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers, expression never shifting. He stills looks so _bored,_ but Hermione can _see_ the malice in his eyes.

A chill runs down Hermione’s spine.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione spins, and sees Harry there. Lavender. _Ron._

They’re all standing there, looking like they’ve just gotten up. They don’t know what’s going on. They haven’t heard anything. They’re just watching her, concerned and lovely. They watch her, reach for her, even after yesterday.

Even after how terrible she was, they look at her, worried.

Hermione doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve anything.

She opens her mouth to speak.

Shuts it again.

She runs.

She’s gotten really good at that.

Running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Outing
> 
> \-----
> 
> A/N: This chapter was really hard for me to write. I feel so viscerally opposed to outing. But, in the grand scheme of the plot and story, it made the most sense for it to happen. Don't worry, Hermione will still have her moment!


	32. SATURDAY, 10:47AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione has to leave.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Yeah, I wish I’d been a  
> Wish I’d been a teen, teen idle  
> Wish I’d been a prom queen, fighting for the title  
> Instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible  
> Feeling super, super (super!) suicidal  
> The wasted years, the wasted youth  
> The pretty lies, the ugly truth  
> And the day has come where I have died  
> Only to find I’ve come alive"
> 
> -Teen Idle, MARINA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for trigger warnings!

Hermione flings herself into the Gryffindor Tower sixth year girl’s dorm with a fervor. She slams the door shut behind her, and stops just for a moment. She stands in the middle of the room and lets out a wretched sob. She trembles, wrapping her arms around herself, attempting to hold herself together. She feels like she’s been shattered, and she’s falling to pieces.

There are no lists for this.

There is no logic to this.

It just _hurts_.

“ _Al-’ama_. _Al-’ama_ ,” Hermione swears to herself, shuddering out her breaths. “Fuck.”

She stands taller and swallows her rage, her grief. And then, she gets to packing.

She goes for her weekend duffel and just unzips it when the door slams open.

“Hermione!” Lavender’s breathing hard, chest heaving. She’d run after Hermione. Hermione remembers a time when she’d do _anything_ for Lavender to run after her. She looks so pretty, cheeks flushed, and Hermione hiccups.

It must be so easy to be pale and pretty and blonde and _straight_.

It must be so easy to be a prom queen, like Lavender, like Pansy. Hermione wishes she were like that. She wishes it were so Goddamn easy instead of so hard that sometimes, she feels like she’d prefer to die. Sometimes, _God,_ she wants to die, because it would be so fucking _easy_.

“Hermione, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Lavender asks.

Hermione turns her back on Lavender and reaches for her weekend bag. She throws clothes into it, doesn’t pay attention to what she takes. She catches flashes—a pair of jeans, a pretty kaftan, socks, sandals. Her favorite turquoise scarf that she wraps around her head when she prays. All she can hear are their _words_. Their fucking judgment.

Hands catch her by surprise as they settle on her wrists.

She hadn’t even realized that she’d frozen.

She looks up at Lavender.

“Hermione, what’s going on? They were saying things...in the Great Hall…” Lavender says softly. She sounds so sweet and understanding, like she could understand _anything_ about who Hermione is, about what Hermione _feels._

She thinks about making Lavender understand.

Lavender would understand if she kissed her.

And yet, Hermione recoils at the very thought.

“You want to know what’s going on?” Hermione whispers, her voice dark.

“Yes, you’re my friend,” Lavender insists gently.

“Well, your friend is a dyke. A lesbian.” Hermione laughs, shaking her head.

“There’s nothing with being—”

“No,” Hermione snarls, ripping her hands away. She turns on Lavender, glaring. “Fuck you. It must be _so_ easy to be blonde and straight and a half-blood and _pretty_. But, I’m not. I’m a lesbian. I’m a Mudblood. I’m _hurt_. I’m...I’m nothing like anyone here. And it fucking sucks. This is all..it fucking _sucks_.”

Lavender shakes at her rage.

She shakes at her grief.

She hears it all.

Hermione has _never_ let anyone hear it all.

Not even _her_.

Lavender swallows hard. “It does. That shouldn’t have...that shouldn’t have happened that way. Oh, Hermione,” she begins and then she moves like she’s going to hug her.

Hermione flinches back violently, tripping over the trunk at the end of her bed.

Lavender gasps, standing there. Staring.

“Don’t...don’t _touch_ me,” Hermione whispers, her voice cracking.

Her eyes burn. She doesn’t want Lavender to see her like this. She doesn’t want _anyone_ to see her like this. She feels naked, stripped down to her bones.

Hermione falters as she turns.

There’s the takchita and scarf. It’s beautiful, spread flatly over the duvet.

She snatches it and stuffs it into her bag before zipping the duffel closed. Hermione throws it over her shoulder and turns away. She grabs the tiny pot of Floo powder that she has just for this. It’s just enough for this—one more trip home, and one more trip back.

If she ever wants to come back.

And Lavender dogs her steps downstairs, follows her to the Common Room.

Hermione sees them there.

Defence Squad. They linger by the portrait hole.

Harry.

“Hermione—” he begins.

She can’t look at him, not head on. She can’t look at the boy standing next to him. She can’t look at the boy that she _lied_ to.

Hermione steps into the flames and throws the Floo powder.

She disappears in a sea of green flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide ideation


	33. SATURDAY, 8:58PM, Eid al-Fitr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, it is Eid al-Fitr and hermione is loved.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Bigger, you're part of something way bigger  
> Bigger than you, bigger than we  
> Bigger than the picture they framed us to see  
> Legacy, oh, you're part of something way bigger
> 
> -BIGGER, Beyonce

“ _Allāhu Akbar_ ,” Hermione whispers to herself. “ _Allāhu Akbar. Allāhu Akbar. Lā ilāha illà l-Lāh wal-Lāhu akbar, Allahu akbar walil-Lāhi l-ḥamd_.”

She hears her mother’s voice. She hears her father’s voice.

Their voices are far away. They whisper the words, go through the Eid prayer.

In the back garden, the stars burn in the sky, even as the sun hasn’t quite yet set. It doesn’t matter. The crescent moon is burning sharp against the violet sky.

Hermione feels small. She feels seen. He is there. Allah.

She feels small. But, not alone. Never alone. Not here.

Hermione looks down at her prayer rug. It is time for niyyat.

Her intention.

_(Allah, my Lord, my God:_

  1. _Make me brave._
  2. _Make me whole._
  3. _Make me yours._
  4. _Give me faith._
  5. _Give me love._
  6. _For you. Let me be real, for you._
  7. _Help me in the unlearning. Please, Allah, my Lord, my God.)_



Hermione is tired. She is tired of lying. She is tired of being un-whole. She is tired of feeling lost, of being split in half between places, between philosophies. She is tired of not being.

She is tired of this miseducation.

“ _Allāhu Akbar_ ,” she breathes. She cannot hear her mother and father, but she feels the warmth of their voices in her chest. With it, she feels the exhaustion, the sadness drain away.

They begin the Takbeer-e-Tehreema.

Hermione feels the motion in her bones. Feels the warm rush over her. He is here. He is everywhere around her. Hermione feels warm. Hermione feels _home_ . There is no hunger. She does not feel empty. She goes through it three times, raising her hands to the level of her shoulders, folding her hands. _Allāhu Akbar. Allāhu Akbar. Allāhu Akbar._

They do not go to the mosque. Not this Eid.

Her father does not read the Surah-e-Fatiha.

But Hermione hears it anyway. She hears it on the wind, the warmth of Arabic wrapping around her.

This is her father’s tongue. This is her mother’s tongue.

 _Bi-smi llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm_ _i_

This is _hers_.

They perform the Ruku. The sujud.

Hermione goes to her knees in worship, completing the first rakat. She bows, she rises, she whispers the words and feels them rest on her tongue, heavy and wanting.

The sky grows darker as they begin the second rakat.

Again.

Then, the last.

She recites the taslim.

“ _As-salāmu ʿalaikum wa-raḥmatu-llah,_ ” Hermione whispers, and she means every word of it. She means all of it and feels _brave_.

There will be no khutbah this Eid.

Hermione stands to her feet in silence. She looks to her left, at her mother. Her mama smiles at her, gently, as she rolls her prayer mat. She looks to her right, at her father. Baba grins as he rolls his prayer mat. They take a step back.

Nadia and Youssif Granger lead the way back inside and Hermione grins when she sees the massive feast that they had prepared. Even Baba had helped. He always claimed Mama couldn’t make a good _fattah bel mozah_ , though Hermione had always found it good.

She sits at the table and grins, immediately eating her date to break her fast.

Mama rolls her eyes. “ _You didn’t even let us sit,_ ” she teases.

Hermione snorts as she sips her water, before she switches to her _qamar al-Din_. Her father is not long after her, eating with as little decorum as her.

“ _Come on, Nadia, I was hungry_ ,” Baba says with a grin as Mama sends him a look.

Hermione laughs because it’s easier to do that here. It’s easier to forget.

 _Be brave_.

She gasps to herself.

“ _Jinan_?” Baba asks, frowning across the table at her.

Hermione shakes her head as she begins to help herself to the food. They even brought the chips for her. She swallows her nerves and nibbles at it, keeping her eyes down. She's careful not to get crumbs in the gorgeous dusty rose takchita that the Room of Requirement had given her. She wants to keep it forever. She brushes a curl from her forehead, tucking it back in her scarf that she'd wrapped about her head, securing around her curly bun at the nape of her neck.

“ _You came home earlier than expected, habibati_. _Is everything alright_?” Mama asks as she makes Baba’s plate. She passes it over to him and then begins to assemble her own. She always prefers the food of her home on Eid. Usually, she’s equal opportunity.

“ _Yes,_ ” Hermione whispers. She pauses. “ _Mama. Baba. I’m sorry._ ”

Baba stops in the middle of shoveling _fattah_ in his mouth. “ _Sorry about what, habibati_?” Baba asks with a frown. “ _You haven’t failed out of Hogwarts now, have you_?”

He grins and laughs at the very thought.

Hermione doesn’t smile. She stares at her plate. “ _No. I...I should’ve come home more. It’s Ramadan. I missed it. I ignored you_.”

“ _You came home when you could—_ ” Mama begins.

“ _No, Mama. I didn’t. I didn’t want to come home, because...there’s no one else like me at Hogwarts. Black and Arab and Muslim. No one. It’s hard_ ,” Hermione explains quietly. “ _I didn’t want to explain why I had to leave. Because...I was ashamed._ ”

She flinches at the sharp inhale. She looks at her mother. Nadia’s face crumples.

“Hermione,” she says, voice hard, and Hermione flinches harder. Nadia sighs and softens as she says, “ _you have nothing to be ashamed of. We are—you are—the child of immigrants, who came to this country to provide a better life for you. We follow the teachings of Muhammad_ _alayhi s-salām, and we were_ blessed _with you, my daughter. That is brave and powerful._ ”

Hermione gasps around her tears. “ _I-I know_.”

“ _Do you_?” Nadia asks firmly.

Hermione’s head droops. “ _I know now_.”

“ _Good_.” Nadia doesn’t look at her. She lifts her chin, staring off. Baba reaches for Mama’s hand, holding it tight. Hermione shivers in her seat, eating her _harira_.

Her Baba begins talking. “ _Now, Jinan, let me tell you about this little boy’s rotten teeth. Eating too much candy. Thank Allah that you weren’t like that—_ ”

But, she can barely hear him.

 _Be brave_ , she tells herself. _Be honest. Be brave. You are Muslimah. You are a Gryffindor._

Hermione lifts her chin.

“ _Mama_.” Hermione’s voice cracks as she looks over at her mother. Her mother looks up, eyes wide across the table. Her Baba stops in the middle of his waxing about the boy’s teeth. Hermione looks between her mama and baba and stares up at the ceiling, because her eyes sting with tears.

“Hermione?” Mama asks.

“Mama...Baba, I’m gay.”

The words are out there.

She has said it. She’s never said it out loud, she doesn’t think.

Even if she has, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters, but this moment.

She waits for them to scream at her. To tell her to get out. To tell her that she is _damned_.

To tell her that they do not love her.

There’s a long silence.

And then, Hermione weeps, bowing her head over the table as she feels the weight of her parents’ gaze on her shoulders. Baba stands up, his chair screeching against the wood. Hermione flinches at the sound. She jumps again when Mama does the same. Hermione’s salty tears land in her harira.

She feels them loom over her.

“Mama, Baba, I’m _so_ —”

Arms wrap around her. Her mother’s hijab brushes against her cheek. She feels her father’s lips against her temple.

“Oh, habibati, never apologize for who you are,” Baba whispers, in English now, enunciating each and every word. “You lovely girl. The greatest thing we’ve ever done in our lives.”

Hermione stops crying from surprise, choking on a sob.

Her mother holds her tighter. “ _My sweetheart, my child, you are from my womb. I know you. I’ve always known you_ ,” her mother whispers in Arabic, and her mother is shaking as she holds her tighter. Hermione reaches up and grabs her mother’s arm, clinging to it, unwilling to let her go. “ _And I don’t always understand you. Sometimes, you hide so deeply within yourself, that I cannot._ _I know you, my child, and I will never let you go. I love you more than anything. More than you will ever,_ ever _know. You are my everything._ ”

And Hermionie feels loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I love this chapter. I love it so much.
> 
> I really wanted to dive right into Hermione's faith and her family, and what that means to her. I wanted to explore how Hermione's faith is important to her truth, and so is her sexuality. I wanted to explore how Hermione has learned that separating herself into two halves was not good for her. She wanted to be whole. She wanted to be true. She wanted to be brave.
> 
> And here she is.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did.


	34. SUNDAY, 9:47AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione has some fears that are swiftly resolved.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "We've got young blood, can't destroy us  
> We make our own luck in this world  
> We've got young blood, no one chose us  
> We make our own love in this world"
> 
> -Young Blood, Bea Miller

When Hermione creeps down the stairs, she lingers for just a moment. Breathes lightly, hands balled into fists. She’s still dressed in her pajamas, and she can hear her parents speaking gently to each other in Arabic. She swallows hard, because she can’t quite make out what they're saying.

Hermione wonders if they’ve changed her mind. If they’ve decided that she’s a disgrace. If they’ve decided that she’s unloveable.

And that would hurt. It would nearly shatter her.

But, Hermione is tired of letting fear break her.

She sighs to herself, stands taller.

She adjusts her silk hair wrap, her pineappl-ed curls falling into her eyes, and then she marches down the rest of the stairs, hard and brave.

Proudly, she stands in the doorway of the kitchen.

Mama looks up first and smiles. “Good morning!” she says in English.

“Good...morning,” Hermione says slowly.

“Your father... _ tried  _ to make shakshouka. I saved it,” Mama says with a wink, gesturing to the three medium-sized cast iron pans, one for each of them.

Baba frowns. “I could’ve made it!”

“If you paid attention,” Hermione says, teasing lowly and uncertainly.

Baba snorts and waves her towards her plate. Hermione goes to it, slowly sinking into her chair, not quite able to make eye contact with either of them.

“Habibati,” Baba says gently, gently enough that Hermione actually looks up at him. He smiles quietly at her. “We still love you. Always.”

The tension rushes out of Hermione almost immediately, so quick that she aches with it. She swallows around the sudden knot in her throat, and fights the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She can’t quite manage it when her mother stands up and presses a kiss to her temple before she’s off to get napkins for the table.

Then, Hermione’s full blown grinning.

Her parents love her.

They haven’t changed their minds.

They’re  _ never  _ going to change their minds about her.

Hermione grabs her fork and begins to eat, smiling to herself. “Sorry I didn’t get up for prayer this morning. I slept through my alarm.”

Mama snorts. “Please, habibati, let’s not pretend that’s not how it’s always been. You will either pray more as you grow deeper in your faith, or you will not,” Mama says. She doesn’t sound sad about it, just thoughtful. “That is between you and Allah. We gave you the tools. But your faith is your own, and we do not judge you. We are not Allah.”

Hermione grins. “Thanks.”

Mama waves away her thanks, because Mama never thinks she needs to be thanked for her wisdom.

Hermione sighs and digs into her food, groaning at the explosion of flavor. That’s one thing she constantly misses at Hogwarts— _ seasoning _ . There is a precious lack of it in some English dishes. She ignores her Baba and Mama’s grins, as she eats some of her food. She sets her fork to the side and considers them with a long look.

“What is it?” Baba asks.

“I want to tell you about why I was so upset yesterday,” Hermione begins. “But, I’m not sure where to start.”

“Wherever and whenever you can,” Baba prompts. He looks like he’d let her wait to tell him forever, like his patience is neverending.

While Hermione appreciates it, she decides to rip it off like a band-aid.

“I...I left yesterday and came home early because I was outed.”

Baba’s fork falls to the table with a clatter. He stares at her for a long time and then, with all the viciousness in the world, bites out the word, “ _ What _ ?”

“You were... _ what _ ?” Mama hisses.

“I was outed. It’s when—”

“We know what it is,” Baba barks, and Hermione knows that he’s not angry with her. He’s just angry. “Who...who would  _ do  _ something like that?”

“His name is Draco Malfoy. He doesn’t like me...for a  _ lot  _ of reasons,” Hermione says, looking down at the table. She drags the tines of her fork through the eggs, watching the yolk pops and twist, turning orange as it mixes with the tomato. “He’s blonde and white and  _ aristocratic _ and a pureblood.”

“A pureblood?” Mama asks. “What’s that?”

“He’s...descended from only other witches and wizards. Ron’s a pureblood too, but he’s not like Malfoy. Malfoy thinks that because he doesn’t have Muggle blood, he’s  _ superior _ . So, he doesn’t like me. He calls me...Mudblood.  _ Dirty  _ blood.”

And Hermione has never quite told her parents about this.

But, her mama inhales sharply, lifting a trembling brown hand to her lips, shaking her head.

“That’s...even  _ there _ , you still suffer such—” her mother’s voice cracks, and she shakes her head. When her hand falls to the table, there’s a fire in her eyes. “It can’t be allowed to continue. I  _ won’t  _ allow it.”

Hermione pauses. “Mama?”

“We have to go to your school,” Mama declares. She’s looking at Baba now. “How  _ dare  _ someone try to make you feel inferior for  _ all  _ that makes you special? You are our  _ daughter _ . You are  _ extraordinary _ , in  _ every  _ aspect.”

Mama declares each word with conviction.

Baba looks deeply troubled. “Have you told any teachers?”

Hermione sighs. “Not really. He’s careful not to do it in front of other teachers, and he’s also a prefect, so I can’t really get him in trouble. He tried to say something once, in front of the Head Boy, but the Head Boy is Harry’s boyfriend, so he doesn’t say anything anymore. Not when he’s there. There’s one professor who’s overheard it, but I don’t expect him to be...sympathetic to my plight.”

No, Hermione didn’t expect much from Severus Snape at all, to tell the truth.

“Very well,” Baba says firmly. “Then, we’ll go straight to the Headmaster and get to the bottom of this—”

“No!” Hermione cries out before she’s even sure why.

Mama pauses. “Why  _ not _ ? He hurt you! He took an important choice from you. And he calls you a  _ foul  _ name. Whenever someone said names to you before, in primary, we took care of it, didn’t we?”

And they had.

Mama and Baba were fearless, when Hermione was in primary. Every time she came home, weeping, because someone called her a terrorist or a racial slur or even just a ‘know-it-all’, her parents were there. And it stopped. For a time. But, then, sometimes, they’d notice that she wasn’t going to tell her parents again, and it’d start up again.

And she was quiet.

Hermione was tired of being quiet. Tired of fear.

“No,” she repeats, softly. She looks up from her plate, a slow smile creeping across her face. “I can do it. I’ll stand up for  _ myself,  _ and it won’t  _ ever  _ happen again. I’m a Muslim. I’m Black. I’m Arab. I’m a lesbian. I’m your  _ daughter _ . I’m a Gryffindor. That all just means one thing: I’m built for bravery.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AHH! I'm sorry, I'm SO late. The weird timing of AO3 emails has really thrown me off! I had to switch emails entirely because I wasn't getting any because of the IP address switch.
> 
> Stay tuned for another chapter at the proper time in the next half hour!


	35. SUNDAY, 12:22 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione has more than one home.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "But when our lives are running out  
> And your heartbeat has taken the draw  
> Could you try to look around?  
> I'll be there to pull you back up  
> I'll be around you, I'm nothing without you  
> I won't leave you alone  
> 'Cause when the stars are falling down  
> There's love in the dark"
> 
> LOVE IN THE DARK, Jessie Reyez

When Hermione comes through the green flames, she doesn’t emerge into the Gryffindor Common Room, like she expects to.

Hermione only vaguely recognizes the office that she’s in.

It’s a gorgeous office, full of spindly tables, upon which were set delicate looking silver instruments. They buzz and whir, spitting puffs of smoke. Hermione turns, eyes wide as she looks at the vast collection of books that were all prettily shelved at the walls. There is a soft squawk, and Hermione spin to look at the _phoenix_ that sits on a perch.

“Oh...you’re gorgeous,” she whispers, taking a step closer. “And quite rare. Luna would lose her mind. What’s...what’s your name?”

She reaches out against her better judgment and just as she’s ready to pull her hand away, the phoenix leans forward, bumping its head against her hand.

“His name is Fawkes.”

Hermione spins around, gasping.

Albus Dumbledore sits behind the desk, a small smile on his face. Even behind the desk, Hermione can see how tall he is. He looks larger than life in bright neon purple robes, decorated with tiny lime green stars.

“O-oh, _Headmaster_. I came through the wrong fireplace, sorry—” Hermione stammers.

“You did not, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster corrects, gently. “I wanted to see you.”

“M-me? Have I done something wrong?” Hermione stutters.

The Headmaster sighs, and suddenly, he looks very old. “No. But, I do believe someone has done you a _grave_ wrong. Is that true?”

Hermione flinches.

 _He knows_.

“I...yes,” Hermione whispers, her voice tiny.

The Headmaster gives a great sigh.

“Miss Granger, I am _deeply_ sorry,” he says gently. “I mourn the fact that that was _stolen_ from you.”

“Stolen?” Hermione repeats, quietly.

Professor Dumbledore leans forward to look her in the eye. “When and how and where and to whom we reveal parts of ourselves, belongs _solely_ to ourselves.”

_We._

Hermione’s eyes sting with tears and she gives a grateful smile. “Okay, sir. Thank you.”

“Would you like to report an infraction, Miss Granger?” Professor Dumbledore asks, quite seriously.

And Hermione could.

But, there are so many times she could’ve done it before. There are so many times that she should’ve.

And she hadn’t.

And for some reason, she still can’t.

She’s not brave enough for it. Not yet. Not until she works out _why_ it all crushes her. She needs time.

“I need time,” she says.

Professor Dumbledore nods once. “My office is always open, Miss Granger. And remember, Hogwarts is your _home_. You should never be afraid in your own home.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Hermione says. She takes the Headmaster’s smile as a dismissal and she adjusts her duffel over her shoulder as she leaves his office with her head held high.

Hermione starts to feel stronger and weaker, all at once, as she walks towards Gryffindor Tower. She passes a few other students, and they all look at her, eyes dragging over her clothes.

She lifts her chin, brushing a hand down the front of her tunic.

She is wearing her favorite tunic and her favorite jeans. She’s done her hair. She’s wearing her grandmother’s locket. She is as she is at home, at Hogwarts.

She is Hermione Jinan Granger.

Hermione gets to the Fat Lady and says, quietly, “ _Quid Agis_.”

The Fat Lady nods in greeting and the door swings open.

Hermione steps through the portrait hole and looks around. It’s reasonably full for a late Sunday morning. There are a group of third years playing Wizard’s Chess by the window. A fifth year study group, furiously revising for their upcoming OWLs. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Neville Longbottom by the far wall. A few seventh years too.

They all stop talking, staring at her, conversation tapering off.

All but five.

Hermione looks at the fireplace.

The Defence Squad swarm around it, whispering to each other.

They’re waiting for her.

Hermione smiles.

Luna notices first.

Harry is second.

Harry swings around to stare at her, and he seems to stop breathing for just a moment.

Hermione can’t look away from him.

Her _best_ friend.

Harry’s face twitches and then he's stalking towards her.

Hermione walks slowly.

He’s halfway across the room when Lavender steps in front of Harry.

Hermione lurches to a stop.

Lavender stares at her with a strange glint to her eyes, and then, she’s storming forward. Hermione’s shoulders curl in as Lavender approaches, and she waits for it. Waits to be yelled at. Waits to be rejected.

Lavender stops just in front of her, and then, she throws her arms around Hermione, reeling her in. Hermione gasps against Lavender’s cheeks. Lavender pulls back, her hands on Hermione’s shoulders so that she can look her in the eye.

“You are...one of my _best_ friends, Hermione Granger,” Lavender says firmly. “Don’t you _ever_ doubt that. I won’t allow it. I simply won’t. You _aren’t_ always right. This doesn’t suck. You are Muslim and Black and Muggleborn and a lesbian, and that’s _lovely_ . _You_ are lovely, and you are one of my _very_ best friends. Okay?”

She waits patiently for Hermione to speak, and Hermione’s voice catches in her throat.

She finally lets out a strangled, “O-okay.”

And then, Ginny and Luna are there, wrapping their arms around Hermione, holding onto her, their fingers knotting in the fabric of her kaftan. And then, Harry steps in behind her, pressing himself against the length of her back, balancing his chin on the top of her head. She feels him brush a kiss to the top of her head, and still Hermione can’t look away from _him_.

Ron stands there, just beyond the group, staring at her with this complicated expression, like he’s trying to work through something.

“Ron,” she begins, but she can’t finish. She doesn’t even know what to say, how to _apologize_.

But, Ron shakes his head. He holds out his hand to her.

And Hermione reaches forward, lacing their fingers together. She holds on tight.


	36. MONDAY, 8:42AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione and ron talk.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "'Cause, baby, I was born tired  
> Getting more tired  
> As time passes me by, yeah  
> I'ma need more fire  
> Way, way more fire  
> So pass that thing my way"
> 
> -Born Tired, Jhené Aiko

“Are you gonna come down for breakfast?” Lavender asks as they walk downstairs together. She pauses, looking over Hermione’s outfit. “I really _do_ like your newfound interest in dressing up and looking pretty.”

Hermione snorts and rolls her eyes. “It’s not _new_ , Lavender. It’s only new to you.”

“I can’t believe you _kept_ this from me,” Lavender warns. “I’m never letting you get away with half-assing our party looks _ever_ again.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione teases.

And then, she pauses when she sees him.

Ron is sitting in the Common Room, fully dressed. He leans forward, staring into the flickering flames. He notices them around the same time that they notice him. Lavender hums, frowning to herself, and then, she looks over at Hermione.

“I think...I’m going to meet you later. I’ll see you in Defence,” Hermione says quietly.

Lavender nods once. “Okay. See you then,” she says firmly. “Morning, Ron.”

“Hey,” Ron says quietly. “Harry and Gin are already downstairs.”

“Great!” Lavender says cheerfully.

Hermione lingers behind the couch, watching her leave. She finally turns to look at Ron. He’s looking into the fire again. Hermione rounds the back of the couch and sits down next to him, keeping room between them. She leans back into the couch, pulling her legs beneath her to get comfortable. Ron hums, but doesn’t say anything.

So, Hermione doesn’t say anything either.

They sit in silence together, long enough for it to be fifteen minutes and Romilda Vane rushes downstairs with Colin Creevey. They both look disheveled and _late_. Romilda stares at Hermione, wide-eyed.

“That’s Granger, the—”

“Keep it moving or I’ll take points,” Ron barks.

Romilda Vane jumps and then she looks away, moving just a little faster. She mutters, “Come on, we barely have time for a piece of toast as it is.”

Hermione waits until they’ve cleared the Common Room.

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.”

Hermione swallows hard. “Hey, Ron.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m a lesbian.”

She waits for it. The accusations. The anger. _I know. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the fuck did you—_

“Thanks for telling me.”

Hermione stops short. She looks up from her lap at him.

Ron is watching her, carefully.

“Ron—” Hermione starts, voice cracking.

Ron shakes his head. “Hermione, please don’t...act the victim.”

“I’m _not_ —”

“I know that you are a victim,” Ron corrects. “What happened to you...was _awful_. But, what happened to me...wasn’t _great._ What you did to _me_ wasn’t great.”

Hermione swallows hard. She bites her bottom lip and whispers, “I know.”

She casts a wordless _Tempus_.

“It’s nearly time for Defence,” Ron sighs, standing up.

Hermione’s hand shoots out and she grabs him by the wrist. Ron pauses.

“Let’s skip,” Hermione says firmly.

Ron raises an eyebrow. “Skip?”

“Yeah, let’s skip. We’re talking,” Hermione says quietly. And Ron slowly sits back down, nodding at her. Hermione leans forward. “I’m _so_ sorry for...for leading you on, and pretending, like that.”

Ron nods once.

“Why did you, then?” Ron asks. He swallows hard and his cheeks slowly turn red. He wrings his hands as he struggles to look at her, like he’s embarrassed. _Hermione_ did that. “I thought...you know, I’ve always really cared about you. You’re one of my best friends, even if we didn’t get close until this year. Did I...did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Hermione yelps. She sighs, long and hard. She’s so tired. “You didn’t do _anything_ wrong. It’s just...Lavender really wanted us together, didn’t she?”

“So...this is Lavender’s fault?” Ron asks, skeptically.

“ _No_ ,” Hermione snaps. She glares at him. “Let me _finish._ ”

Ron’s mouth twitches. Hermione laughs at herself, surprised. She hasn’t done that in a long while. Snapped at him.

“Okay. So...Lavender wanted me to be happy. She wanted to set me up with someone. She wanted me to be happy. And she wanted _you_ to be happy too, and it just felt...so easy. To make myself feel that way?” Hermione says, finishing it like a question. She swallows hard and hums. “It’s just...it’s so _hard_ to be something you’re not, isn’t it?”

And Ron stares at her for a long time, the words resonating with him. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, it is.”

“I just...really wanted to be _normal_ in some way. Or rather, more like everyone else,” Hermione admits. “You helped me feel that way.”

“Why would you want to be like everyone else?” Ron asks. “You’re Hermione _Granger_.”

Hermione smiles.

Hermione scoots closer to him, reaching for his hand. She squeezes it, and he looks up at her. “Ron, I can’t tell you _how_ sorry I am. You didn’t deserve that. Not any of it. You are a far better friend than I deserve. You are the best of of friends.”

“You deserve the world,” Ron says gently. “That doesn’t change just because you made some mistakes.”

And he is the best of friends, best of men. Hermione doesn’t deserve him. She doesn’t say it again; she doesn’t want to argue with him about it. She just nods to herself.

“I’ve spent so long picking and choosing what should make me different. But, I’m very tired. Sometimes, I think I was born tired,” Hermione admits.

Ron hums. “I understand that. That’s what being poor feels like too, sometimes.” He swallows hard and looks at her. “Who is she?”

Hermione frowns down at her lap.

She knows what he means.

Softly, she admits, “I’m not sure she means much anymore. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Ron frowns at her and then, he’s wrapping one arm around her shoulders, tugging her in tight to his side. Hermione stiffens for just a moment before she relaxes into his side, her head falling into the crook of his neck. She closes her eyes for just a moment and rests there. She listens to the sound of Ron breathing.

Hermione only opens her eyes again when the portrait hole swings open. She hears the soft chattering of a few students, and she pulls her wand, casting a wordless _Tempus._ She blinks in surprise.

“Oh. Class is over,” Hermione murmurs. “I can’t believe I _skipped_.”

Ron snorts, eyes still closed. “Me neither.”

Hermione shakes her head and she looks back over the sofa, eyes trained on the portrait hole. She smiles when she sees Harry climbing through, Lavender surprisingly absent.

“There you two are!” Harry declares. “You skipped Defence! Moony asked where you were, and you _know_ I’m not a good liar!”

Ron snorts. He hums as he slowly turns to regard their friend.

“Did you hear?” Ron starts. “Hermione’s a lesbian.”

Harry stares at the pair of them, dumb-founded, and it’s such a ridiculous look, that Hermione starts to laugh, throwing her head back. Her whole body shakes with it, and Harry gets closer, sitting down on the ottoman across from the sofa. He’s still looking at her.

“Hermione?” he asks, like he’s waiting for confirmation.

“I am,” Hermione confirms.

Harry grins and drags himself and the ottoman forward with his feet. He grabs her hands.

“That’s _great._ Thanks for telling us.”

And Hermione starts to feel like it _is_ great.


	37. TUESDAY, 10:42AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione is frustrated.

Hermione bends her head over her cauldron, trying her best to not breathe in the strong fumes that rise from the blackcurrant-colored liquid that now sat in the bottom of the pewter cauldron. She hums to herself as she carefully pours the sopophorous bean’s juice into the cauldron. She smiles to herself when she doesn’t see any ill reactions.

“How are you so good at this?” Lavender mutters under her breath. She leans over to peek into Hermione’s cauldron and huffs.

“Sir the potion ten times clockwise now. And add seven drops of reduced quid from the beaker while you’re at it. Make sure there aren’t any fragments of Valerian root left. It’ll speed up the process since you’re a little behind,” Hermione reassures.

Lavender gives her a grateful smile and nods, going back to her potion, the point of her tongue sticking out of her mouth. Hermione smiles to herself and turns back to her Potion.

“Granger.  _ Granger _ .”

Hermione stiffens as she hears that fucking  _ voice _ . He’s been calling her name for most of the hour. She narrows her eyes at the pale-haired boy across the aisle.

Malfoy offers her a smirk. “Do tell, what’s it like being queer  _ and  _ a Mudblood?”

He says it quietly but not quietly enough. Harry and Ron are at the table ahead of her and Lavender, and they both turn to look at Malfoy, as if shocked that he’d say something like that. Hermione is unsurprised.

Malfoy is cruel and selfish, and terribly unkind.

Harry and Ron don’t know what he did to her, but  _ Hermione  _ knows.

She knows that  _ he’s  _ the one that outed her.

“You shut your mouth,” Ron snarls.

Malfoy laughs to himself and looks over at Ron. “Come now, Weasley. It’s clear that she’ll never want you. I mean you’re poor, and you have a cock...I presume,” Malfoy says, and his gaze sweeps down, as if he’s searching for it.

Ron’s cheeks turn red.

Harry grits his teeth. “One more word, you prat—” he warns.

“Harry, he’s not worth it,” Hermione says primly, as she adds the powdered root of asphodel. Already her potion is beginning to lighten to a pale pink color, though not the lilac that she’d like to aim for. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to finish it within the hour—no one could—but she’ll come closest, she’s sure.

She begins to stir the potion again.

“I think she said something to that effect.”

Hermione drops her stirrer in the potion. She grips the edge of the table and swallows against her rage.

“Malfoy,” Harry snarls, “I will curse you—”

“ _ What _ is going on?” Professor Snape hisses,  _ finally  _ swooping down. Hermione looks up into his sallow face and shakes her head. “Threatening your peers, Potter? That’ll be twenty points.”

“But, Malfoy was saying horrible things to her!” Lavender insists. “He’s a homophobe—”

“Do  _ not  _ speak out of turn, Brown,” Snape snaps. “That’ll be another ten points.”

Ron gears up to argue and Hermione shakes her head. Ron falls silent, glaring down at the table.

Snape turns his back on them. “Now, bottle and stop what you have. I will grade your abysmal works in progress.”

Hermione closes her eyes and pushes her frustration down.

There’s work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry, I'm late! Another chapter in a couple of hours!


	38. TUESDAY, 4:07PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione is _frustrated_.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Tell me, what do I do when you're not here?  
> What do I do when you're not here?  
> Tell me, what do I do when you're not here?  
> What do I do when you're not here?  
> (I get my kicks like you)"
> 
> -Kicks, FKA Twigs

Hermione knows it’s too early to go to bed.

She’s very meticulous about bed time, and she’s not often one for naps, but she thinks she needs one after a day like today. Today was long. Today was exhausting. Today was fucking  _ frustrating. _

She kicks off her shoes and crawls into bed, falling to her side. She doesn’t even care as she crushes her perfectly gelled curls under her hand. She doesn’t care if they get messy and frizzy. She sinks into her frustration and the softness of her bed and closes her eyes as she reviews the day.

Potions was terrible because Snape is awful.

Lunch was annoying because everyone still  _ stared _ , though less with derision now.

At least Charms went over fine until Seamus Finnegan had nearly set fire to her fucking  _ hair _ .

And all throughout the day, Hermione hadn’t seen Pansy  _ once _ .

And Hermione knows she shouldn’t, but she  _ misses  _ her.

Hermione misses her hands, her face, her eyes, her lips. Hermione misses her laugh, her voice, her words. Hermione  _ misses  _ her, misses how Pansy made her feel. Pansy made the disorder feel okay. Pansy made sense, and didn’t make sense, and Hermione misses her like a limb.

She closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh.

Hermione imagines a weight on the bed, dipping. She imagines a hand to her cheeks, she imagines Pansy being there, pressing her lips to Hermione’s. Hermione knows she isn’t there, but she imagines. She imagines Pansy between her legs, Pansy’s fingers inside of her, Pansy’s  _ tongue  _ inside of her, and Hermione wishes that she’d had the chance to taste Pansy too, to touch Pansy too.

Hermione wishes to feel good.

Hermione rolls onto her back and lets out a long sigh, opening her eyes to stare up at the top of the canopy.

And then, she thinks,  _ I don’t need Pansy to feel good _ .

Hermione swallows back the sudden excess of spit in her mouth and she nervously reaches down, brushing her fingers against the exposed skin of her thighs. She nudges her socks down from her knees down around her ankles, exposing more skin.

Her skin feels electric and she sighs as she reaches under her skirt, brushing her fingers against her mound through her underwear. Hermione bites her bottom lip.

She’s never had time to do this before.

She’s never felt good without someone else—without  _ Pansy _ .

_ I don’t need Pansy to feel good,  _ she tells herself again.

And then, she presses against her clit and gasps, rocking against the heel of her hand as touches herself. She imagines herself floating as she reaches under her underwear and touches her folds. Hermione hums because that doesn’t feel as good if she’s not also brushing her thighs. She does both at the same time and sighs, content.

She touches herself.

She explores. She  _ feels _ , and when she finally,  _ finally _ , comes, she feels it like a rush and gasps to herself because she doesn’t have to call anyone’s name.

She did this to herself. She found pleasure on her own.

Hermione doesn’t need anyone, when her touch is just as  _ good _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another really short chapter, but I really thought it was important for Hermione to masturbate and discover that she can feel pleasure on her own.
> 
> I'm not sure how many people are here from 'cherry bomb', because I KNOW I picked up a ton of readers with euphoria, but there's a chapter (Chapter 23: FRIDAY, 7:00PM) in 'cherry bomb' when GWDS is still forming, and Ginny, Hermione, Lavender, Luna, and Harry discuss masturbation. I just really wanted to find a way to connect that scene, and from here on out, since we're closing out a trilogy, there will be some call backs to events in earlier stories. I'll always include what chapter is being referred to though! Promise!


	39. WEDNESDAY, 5:03PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione and pansy finally talk.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "God save the prom queen  
> Teenage daydream  
> Just another dressed up heartbreak  
> God save the prom queen  
> Only eighteen  
> Turned her tears to diamonds in her crown"
> 
> -Prom Queen, Molly Kate Kestner

Hermione hadn’t expected her to show her face, and yet, she still wasn’t surprised when Hermione walked in at the top of Ancient Runes to see Pansy there, sitting at the back of the classroom. She was there before even Hermione, which means she was waiting for her. Hermione didn’t give her time of day, though. She kept her eyes locked ahead and went to sit in her seat at the very front of the classroom.

Hermione goes through class and doesn’t think about the weight of Pansy’s eyes. She takes notes, pays attention to lecture, nods and smiles and raises her hand when it’s expected of her. She gets through class, and pretends that there isn’t something churning in her pelvis.

And when it’s all over, Hermione takes her time packing like she always does.

She says, “Thank you for the lesson, Professor Babbling.”

She grins when Professor Babbling smiles at her and doesn’t let that grin drop when Professor Babbling says, “Hermione, if you ever need to talk—”

“I’m okay,” Hermione says quickly, cutting her off, and she knows it’s rude, but if she doesn’t do it, she might fracture, and she can’t because Hermione wants to be okay.

She _needs_ to be okay.

Hermione grabs her bag and pretends that Pansy isn’t hovering by the door, waiting for her.

“Princess,” Pansy begins uncertainly, and Hermione just grabs the strap of her bag and adjusts it on her shoulder. Pansy easily keeps apace with her, long legs stretching. Hermione looks at her from the corner of her eye. Pansy looks tired, bags under her eyes dark like bruises, wane and pale and drawn. “Please, _Hermione_ —”

And Hermione whips around, her curls twisting with her. She glares at Pansy and stalks her into the nearest alcove. There’s something wicked in her that burns with satisfaction as Pansy backs up, properly cowed by her in a way that she’s never been before.

She uses her wand to cast a wordless _Muffliato_.

“ _What_ could you possibly still want with me?” Hermione hisses.

Pansy stares at her, suddenly unable to speak. She opens her mouth and closes it again.

“What? _You_ wanted to speak to _me_. I would’ve been happy never speaking to you again,” Hermione spits, like that’s not a lie.

Pansy swallows hard, so hard that Hermione can hear it. “I...Hermione, you have to know, I didn’t kiss him.”

Hermione laughs humorlessly. “I’m sorry, then, what was his tongue doing down your throat?”

“He kissed _me_. He has feelings for me, and I...I told him that they weren’t returned. Not anymore,” Pansy says firmly.

“So, you used to have feelings for him?” Hermione asks, nose wrinkling.

Pansy sighs. “Yes. Before...before everything happened last year. Before—”

“Then, why did you kiss him at Slughorn’s party?” Hermione bites out.

“Why did you kiss Weasley?” Pansy snarls back. “Because I wanted you, and I couldn’t have you, and I wanted to make you _jealous_. But, this wasn’t that. This was...he just _kissed_ me, and I realized that he did it because _you_ were there—”

“I can understand the kiss because Malfoy is horrific,” Hermione says coldly. “But...you...why weren’t you _there_?”

Pansy’s expression crumples. “Hermione—”

“Why would you let him _do_ that to me? He outed me, Pansy. He told everyone that I was just this creepy girl that was _obsessed_ with you. He makes my life _hell_ —” Hermione says.

Pansy interrupts her this time. “Hermione, I-I...I wasn’t...I didn’t—”

“You’re a coward,” Hermione whispers.

She lets out a tiny laugh, surprised at herself. Pansy flinches, looking away.

“I’m _not_ —”

“You are,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy’s eyes burn now and she takes a step forward, towering over Hermione. “Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t come out for _you_ —”

“I didn’t _ask_ you to come out for me!” Hermione shrieks. “I asked you to defend me to a bigot and you couldn't even do that!”

Pansy goes silent, falling back against the wall. She lets out a terrible sigh, shaking her head.

Hermione takes a step closer. “Pansy... _where_ were you?”

Pansy shakes her head, burying her face in her hands.

And Hermione knows then. Pansy might care for her, but not enough. And she’s tired of not being enough. She’s tired.

“I get it,” Hermione whispers. “I guess you could _never_ be seen with a Black Arab _Mudblood_.”

And Pansy crumples.

Hermione stands tall, glaring at Pansy, waiting for her to deny it, waiting for her to make it make sense, because it still doesn’t. Because Hermione _knows_ Pansy had feelings for her. She _knows_ because she doesn’t think Pansy is a liar.

But, she thinks Pansy is _frightened_ , and Hermione refuses.

Hermione refuses to be frightened again.

“We can continue working on our project together by owl,” Hermione says, voice frigid.

She walks away, and she feels _okay_.


	40. THURSDAY, 12:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione is _done_.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> ""Yawk! Yawk! Yawk! Yawk!"  
> "Man down  
> Where you from, nigga?"  
> "Fuck who you know, where you from, my nigga?"  
> "Where your grandma stay, huh, my nigga?"  
> "This m.A.A.d city I run, my nigga"
> 
> m.A.A.d city, Kendrick Lamar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end for CW.

Hermione is too busy organizing her books from the library to really be paying attention to where she’s walking. She’s approaching her borrower limit, and there’s only so far even Madame Pince will let her take it. Hermione knows that, so she’d made sure that each book that she’d checked out for her project was absolutely necessary.

She’s found one particular work that seems perfect, but she’s not great at reading Arabic, and she wants to send her mother excerpts so that she might translate it. Hermione expects that there’ll be some words that don’t translate well, particularly magical terms that her mother won’t know, but she thinks it’s crucial to her research.

Hermione is so busy with her thoughts that she almost doesn’t hear the whispers that _still_ follow her. They’re less malicious in nature, now. More that she’s a curious oddity. Hermione’s not sure what it’s _her_ that they seem to focus on. There are other lesbians. Harry is gay and dating Tom _Riddle_ , who’s pansexual. But, it seems easier to focus on her, she thinks, because she’s already so different.

It’s still annoying. It still sometimes hurts.

And Hermione is quickly getting quite _exhausted_ by it all. She refuses to be afraid anymore. And she refuses to tolerate shit anymore.

Hermione gets to her friends and smiles at them as Luna moves over almost immediately.

“Hello!” Luna says cheerfully.

“Hey,” Hermione greets. She arranges her things, not quite sitting just yet. “How was break?”

“Lavender gossiped, Ron hexed himself, Ginny laughed herself silly, and Harry couldn’t seem to choose between snogging Tom or arguing with him,” Luna lists.

Harry scowls.

“Thrilling,” Hermione teases. “You’re arguing with Tom still, habibi?”

Lavender frowns. “Still? Have you been arguing?”

“When aren’t they?” Ron counters. “They may be together, but that doesn’t mean Harry isn’t constantly looking for a fight. Harry, is that a form of foreplay?”

Harry flips him the bird.

Hermione laughs and she’s half-straddling the bench when someone taps on her shoulder.

She looks up, slowly, frowning.

“Marietta?” Luna asks. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing to do with you, Loony. I just have a question for Granger,” Marietta Edgecombe says. She giggles, looking over her shoulder at her friends. They’re all laughing to each other, all with the exception of Cho Chang, who looks strangely nervous to be there.

“What is it?” Hermione says firmly, standing taller. She adjusts her prefect pin on her chest.

She expects to hear a question about her sexuality. Her ethnicity. Her general non-magical blood. She sighs, and waits patiently.

“Which do you prefer? Dyke or Mudblood?”

_Dyke or Mudblood._

Hermione is fucking tired.

Hermione pauses and turns to face the girl. Hermione takes a step towards her, away from the table, and Marietta falters. Slowly, she pulls her wand. Hermione makes no move for her wand.

“What did you say?” she asks. Marietta swallows. Hermione won’t let her get away with it. “No. You wanted to get big with me, so get big. _What_ did you say?”

“Which do you prefer? Dyke or Mudblood?” Marietta spits, this time far more rote.

Hermione smiles. “Both.”

And then, she decks Marietta Edgecombe in the face.

She feels the girl’s nose give under her fist, and Hermione can barely hear the roar of the student body over the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears. She watches Marietta stumble, blood exploding from her nose, and Hermione shakes out her hand, distantly feeling the throbbing in her knuckles.

“Call me either of those things ever again, and you’ll get a lot worse,” Hermione says pleasantly. She turns to the student body at large and smiles brightly, throwing her arms open, because she is _done_. She is so _fucking_ done. “Let this be a message to all of you! Call me another slur, and I’ll hit you. _Hard_.”

And she punctuates the sentence with a steel gaze directed at the Slytherin table.

Malfoy is ashen.

“GRANGER!”

Hermione growls when she feels fingers wrap around her bicep and yank her around. She sneers, glaring up into Snape’s face. He is pale with his rage. Hermione looks around him up at the faculty table. Dumbledore isn’t there yet, but McGonagall is already rounding the table, making her way over to her. Flitwick is half out of his seat, and the moment Hermione makes eye contact with him, he’s out of his chair. Professor Lupin just looks sad.

Hermione whips around, nostrils flaring, and she stares at the Ginny Weasley Defence Squad. They all looked caught between shock and awe.

And finally, Hermione looks at Pansy.

Pansy is standing, one hand pressed to her chest.

Hermione feels like it’s only the two of them in the room.

She turns away, lifting her chin in the air.

Snape’s talking to her, snarling so loudly, spittle spots her cheeks.

“—Headmaster’s _office_. You will be _expelled,_ ” he warns.

Hermione barks out a laugh and Snape drags her to a stop at the entrance to the Great Hall.

“I’d like to see you fucking try,” Hermione hisses, but her voice cuts through the Great Hall.

Snape is so pale, he’s yellow. He draws his wand and Hermione waits for him to hex her.

“You _will_ remove your hand from my student, Severus.”

Professor McGonagall speaks so severely that Snape drops her arm almost immediately. Hermione feels the ache almost immediately as blood rushes back. McGonagall turns on Hermione know, her lips pressed into a thin line, betraying her fury.

“Miss Granger, if you would follow me to the Headmaster’s office,” McGonagall says.

Hermione nods once. “Yes, Professor.”

They begin to walk, and Snape is just behind them, snarling, “You can’t let her get away with this, Minerva. She _physically_ assaulted a student—”

“I am aware. I saw, Severus,” McGonagall says, voice dark. “I also saw you put your hands on a student. So, you _will_ be silent.”

Hermione ascends the steps, keeping her stare trained forward as she leads them to the Headmaster’s office. She doesn’t let her expression betray the turmoil inside of her. She doesn’t let her rage out, her fear, her anxiety. She doesn’t let it show at all.

Hermione might be expelled.

She barely hears McGonagall saying the password, barely registers the gargoyle leaping to the side, or the Headmaster’s greeting when she enters.

“She _must_ be expelled!” Snape explodes almost immediately.

The Headmaster raises an eyebrow. “What did Miss Granger do?”

“She _assaulted_ another student,” Snape spits. “For nothing—”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Hermione mutters.

Neither Snape nor McGonagall seem to hear her.

But, Professor Dumbledore does.

“Miss Granger, please sit,” the Headmaster says.

Hermione does as asked.

“She punched Marietta Edgecombe. I believe she broke the girl’s nose,” McGonagall says. “Miss Granger has never presented a problem before. She’s a model student. I recommend Saturday detentions for the rest of the year—”

“ _Only_ detention?” Snape hisses. “She should be—”

“Has anyone thought to ask _why_ Miss Granger punched Miss Edgecombe?” the Headmaster asks. Both Snape and McGonagall fall silent as Professor Dumbledore looks at Hermione. “Miss Granger, why did you punch the young lady?”

Hermione swallows hard. “She called me a dyke. And a Mudblood.”

She hears McGonagall’s sharp inhale.

Snape sneers. “You punched her over words?”

“It’s _not_ just words.”

And Hermione doesn’t know where that rage came from. She doesn’t know, but it burns brighter and brighter in her chest.

“What?” Snape demands.

“It’s _not_ just words! Do you know all of the things I've called over my lifetime? I’ve been called a dyke. A Mudblood. A terrorist. A _nigger_ ,” Hermione growls, spitting each word and letting it settle in her chest. She takes each flinch from the professors and savors them. She holds them close and _knows_ that she is _righteous_ in her rage. “And I am _tired_.”

“Granger—” Snape begins.

“No,” Hermione hisses. “You have done _nothing_ for me. You don’t get to be _upset_. Maybe I shouldn’t have hit her, but she shouldn’t have _called_ me that. I was outed last week. I’ve been called a Mudblood for _years_ , in your _presence_ , Professor. And nothing has _ever_ been done. No one has ever been _punished_. And I am tired.”

McGonagall opens her mouth. “If you had—”

“No,” Hermione hisses. “If I’m expelled, fine. But, at _least,_ I’ll be expelled for demanding that I be treated like a human being.”

And then, the door slams open.

Hermione’s eyes widen, and a bizarre smile spreads across her face, because it’s _Harry_ and _Ron_.

Harry storms into the room, eyes burning green, like the flames of an active Floo.

“My mother and father did not die for this!” Harry snarls. “They did not _die_ so that people like Hermione Granger—intelligent and gifted—would continue to suffer and face discrimination. For the administration to do _nothing_!”

And he sounds so righteous and furious, that Hermione aches with her pride. Ron nods to every word, hands clenched into fists.

“You _can’t_ expel her for standing up for herself, when no one has stood up for her _ever_ !” Harry continues. “Just yesterday, Snape let Malfoy get away with saying _terrible_ things to her, and I—”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Hermione says gently.

She looks back at Professor Dumbledore. He is _smiling_ almost.

Harry startles. “Huh?”

Hermione slowly stands, clearing her throat. “I love you, Harry. Ron. I appreciate you being here,” she says, softly, “but I have to stand up for myself.”

Hermione wrings her hands and lets out a deep breath as she turns to face the three professors. She looks up at them with a firm expression.

“I’ll take whatever punishment you have for me. Whether that be detention or expulsion,” Hermione says. At this, Ron makes a sound in the back of his throat. Hermione clears her throat and summons her courage. “ _But,_ I have something to say.”

And very sincerely, the Headmaster says, “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“I effectively resign from my position as the Gryffindor sixth year prefect.”

She slams the pin down on Dumbledore’s desk.

There’s a moment of silence. McGonagall sputters.

“Miss Granger, you cannot—”

“This isn’t a tantrum,” Hermione says coldly. She regards the three adults. She stares at Harry. She looks back at Professor Dumbledore, stares into his gentle face. “I refuse to represent an administration that gives Draco Malfoy the same amount of power over marginalized people like me.”

“Mr. Malfoy isn’t here—” Snape starts.

Hermione whirls on him.

“Draco Malfoy calls me a Mudblood. Draco Malfoy calls me a _dyke_. Draco Malfoy _outed_ me. And I _am_ a lesbian,” Hermione snarls. “But, that’s _mine_. I’m supposed to decide when I get to announce it to the world. _No_ one else. So, I’m done. I am _done._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: racial slurs, homophobic slurs


	41. THURSDAY, 7:32PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione decides to be a professional rulebreaker.

“Well, you lost us 200 points,” Harry finally says. “And, you have detention every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

He waits for Hermione to react, probably how she would if it was anyone else’s fault.

Hermione’s lips curl into a dry smile. “Well, ‘what’s the point of rules if you don’t break them sometimes’?”

Ron gapes. “Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?”

Hermione laughs and falls onto the sofa. She draws her knees to her chest, and looks at her two best friends. Her two first friends.

“I’m still me. Just...there are some things risking everything for,” Hermione says quietly. “If people are saying those things to me...imagine what they’re doing to people younger than them. People who are more afraid of speaking up. I have to stand in my convictions. My ideals. Or it’s not worth it at all.”

Harry smiles quietly at her and he reaches over, grabbing her hand. He squeezes hard.

“I think...my mother would _really_ have liked you, Hermione,” Harry whispers.

Hermione’s heart clenches. “I hope so.”

Ron hums to himself and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you broke her _nose_. It was epic,” Ron says quietly. “I can’t believe you yelled at _Snape_.”

“Well, believe it,” Hermione says flatly.

Ron shakes his head. “You’re a gem, Granger.”

Hermione laughs, shaking her head as she looks at the pair of them. Before she can say something sappy like how much she loves them, the portrait hole opens, and it’s Lavender and Ginny, ushering Luna in with them. They look around and spot them almost immediately, rushing over to them. Lavender nearly trips over some fourth year that she shoots an ugly look before she collapses on the couch, practically throwing herself across Hermione’s lap.

“Where _were_ you? We thought you were dead for _sure_ ,” Lavender gasps.

Hermione laughs.

“I was in Professor Dumbledore’s office and then, I thought that class might be a bit reductive for the rest of the day. Professor McGonagall agreed,” Hermione explains. She taps her knee. “Ron and Harry kept me company, and we ate in the kitchens. How was the rest of the day?”

“You mean Marietta’s face? Broken,” Luna says cheerfully.

Ginny snorts. “Everyone’s talking about it. Some people agree with what you did, a lot of people don’t. Those that don’t face the Death Eaters’ wrath.”

“The Death Eaters?” Harry asks.

“I mean, Tom _knows_ Hermione’s your best friend,” Lavender says pointedly.

Luna shakes her head. “It’s actually Rosier leading _that_ crusade. I hear that they’re going to make Malfoy’s life _hell_ ,” Luna says, sounding far too delighted.

Hermione feels her heart twinge with affection for one Evan Rosier.

“Anything else?” Hermione asks.

“What’s your punishment?” Lavender asks instead.

“She’s got detention every Saturday with Professor McGonagall. _And_ Snape is under review, because we told Professor Dumbledore about how he ignores Malfoy’s shit,” Ron says cheerfully.

Ginny nods firmly. “ _Good_ ,” she spits. “Fucking hate Malfoy.”

“Well,” Lavender begins slowly. “I’ve heard that the Board of Governors are convening tonight in the castle.”

Everyone falls silent.

Hermione sits up slowly, looking down at the girl lounging across her lap. “ _How_ do you know that?” she whispers.

Lavender clears her throat. “My...mother is on the Board. I _may_ have written to her.”

“Lavender, _what_?” Harry gasps.

Lavender sits up, folding her arms over her chest, and she looks away. “I couldn’t _stand_ Malfoy getting away with his shit. You...you always talk about how we can’t let people get away with bigotry, Hermione. Especially, when we have the power to change it. And I...I had the power. So, I wrote to my mother and told her all about the things that people say and the words that people use.”

“So...you wrote to your mother and…” Ron trails off.

Hermione is silent as she waits to hear the answer.

Lavender frowns to herself.

“I told her that the Board of Governors should reconsider adding hate language as a reason for expulsion to the rulebook.”

Hermione stares at Lavender for a long moment before she gathers Lavender into a tight hug, pressing her face into the crook of Lavender’s neck. Lavender doesn’t hesitate to hug her back.

“Thank you, Lavender Brown,” Hermione whispers.

Lavender kisses the top of Hermione’s head. “Hermione, you’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you all.”

Hermione hugs tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First, this is SUPREMELY late, because I honestly forgot that I had this chapter to post. Oops lol.
> 
> Ayeeee, and second, I just wanted to say something. I don't know why I feel the need to, but I wanted to: I don't HATE Draco Malfoy, lmao. I actually really enjoy him typically, but here, he's the bad guy. Oop.
> 
> I needed once, and Tom Riddle is already out here being the dashing love interest for one Harry Potter. Malfoy was the next best thing.


	42. FRIDAY, 11:25PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione learns that she's gon' be alright.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Nigga, we gon' be alright  
> Nigga, we gon' be alright  
> We gon' be alright  
> Do you hear me, do you feel me? We gon' be alright  
> Nigga, we gon' be alright  
> Huh? We gon' be alright  
> Nigga, we gon' be alright  
> Do you hear me, do you feel me? We gon' be alright"
> 
> -Alright, Kendrick Lamar

Hermione should have _really_ expected this.

It’s break time. She’s out in the open. Everyone’s already watching her after her display yesterday, probably wondering why she hasn’t been expelled. She wonders if any of them have noticed that she’s not wearing her prefect badge. She finds that she doesn’t miss it so much. She’s already written her parents to tell them what she’s done, and she’s expecting a letter back, admonishing her for violence, but praising her for taking a stand.

Anyway, Hermione should have really expected this.

So, she’s not sure why she’s surprised when Draco Malfoy storms up to her, eyes nearly black with rage, interrupting Harry in the middle of a sentence.

Harry’s sitting on the windowsill, hands waving through the air, Tom just behind him, big hands on his waist. Bellatrix is further inside, leaning on the corridor wall, and the rest of the Death Eaters are around. The Defence Squad is all here.

And yet, Draco Malfoy is _there_ , Crabbe and Goyle flanking him.

“Do you... _need_ something?” Harry says dangerously.

Bellatrix moves silently. “You might need to find somewhere else to be, nephew,” Bellatrix drawls.

Malfoy twitches. He stands tall, though. He wants everyone to see him here. They can only see his back, so she imagines that the masses think that he’s contrite. She looks around. Seamus, Dean, and Neville are watching from their corner. The Slytherin girls sans Pansy at the opposite corner. The Patil twins and Fay Dunbar. The lot of them.

“Granger, I need to talk to you,” he spits, tone black with hatred.

“You don’t need to do anything,” Ginny says, voice cold. She folds her arms over her chest.

Hermione frowns up at him. Malfoy stares back at her, and she knows that he’s not here to apologize. He’s here because he _hates_ her.

He doesn’t even know her enough to hate her.

“You can go now,” Ron declares.

“No.” They all turn to look at Hermione, as if unsure if she spoke, so she repeats herself: “No.”

“No?” Luna echoes.

“You want to talk, Malfoy?” Hermione asks. “Let’s talk.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” Lavender starts, grabbing at the sleeve of her shirt.

Hermione smiles gently. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Found a new girlfriend, already? She’ll be devastated.”

Hermione shoots Malfoy a glare and she stands up, folding her arms over her chest. “We’re not talking about her if that’s what you want to talk about,” she snarls, but she leads the way, stalking through the courtyard, aware of the eyes that she’s drawing.

She leads him just past the entrance of the courtyard and she doesn’t bother with a privacy charm. She wants everyone to hear him, no matter what he says. Hermione leans back against the wall, looking at the three of them.

They think that they’re intimidating. Hermione resists the urge to snort.

“You got me in trouble,” Malfoy bites out.

“You got yourself in trouble,” Hermione retorts.

“I was suspended from being a prefect, pending investigation,” Malfoy hisses.

Hermione smiles. “Good. You got what was coming to you.”

“And you got what was coming to _you_ ,” Malfoy retorts. “I didn’t forget the time that you punched me in the face at that party.”

Hermione bites her bottom lip. She hazily remembers that. It had happened in a drunken haze, but it _had_ happened.

_YOU FOUL LOATHSOME EVIL LITTLE COCKROACH!_

“I shouldn’t have punched you. That was wrong of me. I’m not a violent person, in contrast to what current circumstances have shown of me,” Hermione admits, “but you’re a misogynistic racist pig. So, as I said, _you_ got what was coming for you.”

Malfoy turns ashen and he takes a step towards. “Look you little _bitch_ —”

“No, _you_ look,” Hermione barks. “You’re a pathetic person that feels small, and so you want to make everyone _else_ feel small, and I’m tired of it. I won’t be tolerating it anymore. You won’t be bullying me or my friends anymore. You won’t be bullying everyone else that you might want to feel a tiny semblance of power over. That’s _done_ , and let your Father hear about _that_.”

Hermione stalks past him, shoving past Crabbe and Goyle.

And then, there’s a hand around her bicep, right where Snape had grabbed her. This time, she yanks her arm away, glaring at Malfoy.

“ _Don’t_ touch me,” she warns.

“Don’t _push_ me, Granger,” Malfoy hisses, taking a step towards her.

And then, he’s yanking his wand out.

Hermione doesn’t even have a chance to pull her own wand, because there’s someone in front of her.

She expects it to be Harry, but this person is far too tall. Hermione stares at his broad back, eyes wide.

“Blaise?” Malfoy starts.

Blaise Zabini stands tall between her and Malfoy, one arm held out, as if blocking the way.

Zabini shakes his head. “No, Draco. _Enough_ ,” he spits. He takes a step forward, pulling his wand, pressing it to Draco’s collarbone. “Or you’ll go through us.”

Hermione gapes as Dean Thomas appears next to Blaise, pulling his wand too, and the pair stare down Malfoy.

“Blaise,” Hermione whispers. “Dean—”

And then, there are two women on either side of her. Hermione looks from left to right and swallows hard. The Patils close ranks, on either side of Hermione, looking stern-faced and unafraid. Malfoy stares at them for a long time, his mouth parting.

“Don’t put your hands on her again. Now, get _moving_ , Malfoy,” Dean growls.

Malfoy still doesn’t move. He’s ashen and still, he sputters, “If you think I’m afraid of a pair of Mudbloods and their _gang_ —”

“ _Draco!_ ”

Hermione gasps as Pansy appears, twisting between Dean and Blaise. Hermione’s face crumples just for a moment and then she realizes that she’s staring at Pansy’s back. Malfoy swallows, looking confused now.

“Pansy?” he starts. “Put your wand away. You shouldn’t be using—”

“ _No_ ,” Pansy snarls, her voice guttural. “You leave her _alone_. You leave them all alone!”

“But, they’re just—”

“They’re not _just_ anything, Draco Malfoy!” Pansy shouts. “I know your parents are bigots, but that doesn’t mean you have to be too. Because that’s what you _are_. You’re racist and homophobic and a _bigot_ , and I won’t tolerate it. I won’t. I know that you’re worried for me, and that you love me, but... _no,_ Draco. You will never speak to her that way again. I _promised_ her that I wouldn’t let you speak to her that way, and you _know_ I keep my _promises_.”

Pansy’s rant ends in a hiss, dangerous and sweet like poison. She takes a step forward, lifting her chin.

“So, I _dare_ you to speak to them again. I _dare_ you. See what happens,” Pansy barks. “Now, _go_.”

And Draco Malfoy _goes_.

Everyone relaxes almost immediately, the tension seeping away. Pansy turns towards them. She doesn’t look at anyone else. She looks straight at Hermione. She takes a step forward, and Hermione flinches.

Pansy swallows hard. “I’m gonna get you to forgive me, Hermione Granger,” Pansy whispers. “I’m gonna do _everything_ to get you to forgive me.”

Pansy turns on her heel and walks away.

Hermione swallows hard, and nervously looks over at the Patils, Blaise, and Dean.

“I...thanks,” Hermione whispers.

“Of _course_ ,” Padma says, glaring off after Malfoy. “Brown people have to stick together in this place. There aren’t many of us.”

Dean lets one hand fall onto Hermione’s shoulder and nods. “Black people too.” He glances over at Blaise, and nods. “Thanks.”

Blaise shakes his head. “No need to thank me. He was _out_ of line,” Blaise snarls. He lifts his chin. “And I’m _not_ afraid of him or his fucking daddy. And you shouldn’t be either, because I’m not gonna let that shit happen again. I’m just as pureblood. I have just as much money. That shit isn’t happening again. To _anyone,_ especially not to our own.”

Dean’s hand squeezes Hermione’s shoulder and says, softly, “See that. We’re gonna be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh my. This chapter. I have WAITED for this chapter. It has been in the MASSIVE outline for all of HEX from the very beginning. I had a single scene from each outline that I was so EAGER for.
> 
> In "cherry bomb", it was the barfight scene. In "euphoria", it was the first kiss scene. And in "the miseducation", it was THIS scene. This scene is SO important to me. This chapter is about community. I find that friends are amazing and lovely, but sometimes, you need people with shared experiences. I remember someone asked whether I was done with Dean in "cherry bomb", and I thought "NO, I AM NOT" because Dean Thomas is one of the few people at Hogwarts that would DEEPLY understand Hermione's experience as a Black Muggleborn, and I NEED to explore that. I need this kinship, and so here it is!
> 
> Also: the punch referenced is from cherry bomb (Chapter 18: FRIDAY, 9:48PM) for those who didn't read 'cherry bomb' but DID read 'euphoria'.


	43. FRIDAY, 5:12PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione, luna, and harry hang out
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "The future's bright, let's make it plural  
> We got us, we are the light  
> We are the world, we are love  
> We gotta fight for ourselves 'cause no one's gonna  
> No one's gonna"
> 
> \- I Laugh When I'm With Friends But Sad When I'm Alone, 070 Shake

“So, what is it that Professor McGonagall has you do in detention?” Luna asks curiously as she kicks her feet. She’s sitting atop a fence, holding her hand out, cooing to the thestral that’s presumably eating the raw meat from the palm of her hand.

Hermione side-eyes Harry, but Harry’s smiling, staring at Luna and the thestral.

For a moment, Hermione’s jealous that she doesn’t get to see this great creature. She thinks it’d be an amazing learning experience. And then, she remembers why Harry sees thestrals, and she’s promptly ashamed. Hermione pushes away that jealousy, and focuses on Luna’s question.

“At first, she had me do lines, but then, I think she thought it was a waste of time. So, I was grading first year essays,” Hermione says, nose wrinkling.

Harry snorts. “McGonagall knows you well. The most intense of punishments—reading terrible essays,” Harry teases. He squirms atop the fencing, as if his ass is falling asleep.

“It was awful,” Hermione agrees. Hermione bites her bottom lip. She’d joined Harry and Luna on their trip to the thestral paddock for a reason; it’s not one of her typical haunts. But, she thought this would be easier to do with just two versus the entirety of the Defence Squad.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Luna asks sweetly.

“Huh?” Hermione hiccups in surprise.

Luna laughs. “You think  _ very  _ loudly and the wrackspurts are practically screaming.”

“I mean...yes?” Hermione admits. She doesn’t even touch the concept of wrackspurts. At this point, she knows better than to challenge Luna. But, even that makes Hermione hesitate. Luna is so  _ sure  _ of herself. Hermione’s envious. “Luna...how are you so comfortable with yourself?”

Harry frowns at her. “Why shouldn’t she be?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hermione says. “It’s just that you’re  _ so  _ sure of yourself. I’m jealous, I think.”

“Maybe it comes with opening up more?” Harry suggests. “Sharing who you are helps you become more okay when people tell you that love you no matter what.”

Hermione nods, because she thinks that’s a good idea but, “It’s hard to be open. I’ve spent a long time  _ not  _ being open.”

Luna taps her chin, humming to herself. “I don’t know if it’s just about sharing. It’s about...saying it out loud. When you say something out loud, it feels more true,” Luna says softly. “Amplifying your truth...is the first step in accepting yourself, isn’t it?”

And Hermione thinks about that.

She is made of lists. She has declared her lists for the world to hear over the past week. She has declared herself, making herself visible. She has turned her identity is a weapon, because they are challenged by the fact that she loves herself. And she  _ does  _ love herself.

That means loving even the past parts of herself.

“I used to fancy Lavender,” Hermione declares.

Harry startles so hard he falls off the fence.

Hermione laughs, long and hard, but she doesn’t look away from Luna. Luna’s eyes glint with approval.

“Good. You fancied her. That was true, and it was lovely, even if it’s not how you feel anymore,” Luna says gently.

Hermione grins, nodding. Harry looks so thoughtful.

“You should come to dinner on Friday,” Harry suggests.

Hermione frowns. “Why?”

“Well, maybe talking to two queer adults will help you become more comfortable,” Harry says with a shrug. “I can’t promise Sirius won’t be inappropriate, but at least, Moony will keep him reined in.”

Hermione considers it. Sirius and Remus  _ are  _ both queer. They’d helped Harry become comfortable with his own queerness. And Remus is marginalized in another way too—he’s a  _ werewolf _ . It’s not visible like Hermione’s differences, but everyone knows that Remus is a werewolf because of Harry’s adoption. Maybe Harry’s right.

“Sure,” Hermione agrees. “I’ll come to dinner.”

“Great,” Harry says with a smirk. “Tom will be joining us.”

Hermione snorts.  _ Eventful _ , then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I didn't come out and say this last week, because my feelings were still raw, and I had to take care of myself. But, let it be know: Black Lives Matter.
> 
> I am a BLACK woman, and what's happening to Black people across the globe is EXACTLY why I chose to write this story. We matter. I matter. Let it be known that if you disagree, you can leave.


	44. TUESDAY, 11:22AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and lavender study.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Every time you look outside your window  
> Everything is just the same as before  
> You are turning 'round and 'round  
> You see, it's a sad day for sure"
> 
> -sad day, FKA twigs

Hermione’s nervous.

She’s not sure why, but she is. She looks up, side-eyeing Lavender, and then looks down at her Arithmancy problem set. It’s unlike her, to leave work until the day it’s due, but she had orchestrated this purposefully. She wants to be here with Lavender. Just them. It’ll make this all so much easier.

“Lavender…” Hermione begins.

 _Be open,_ she tells herself.

“What is it, Hermione?” Lavender asks. She frowns down at her work. “I can’t remember if this a 3 or a rune. Dammit. What do you think?”

“I just...there’s something I need to tell—”

“Oh _no_ , I think I also had a reading to do!” Lavender whinges.

“Lavender!”

Hermione winces when from not-so-far-away, she hears Madame Pince’s violent hiss. She bites her bottom lip and turns to regard her friend. Lavender’s staring at her wide eyes, but she’s cautious, not upset. That’s good.

“Oh, Hermione, what is it?” Lavender asks.

Hermione squirms. “I want to...explain myself to you,” Hermione says with a shrug. “About why I was so upset with you when I left…”

Lavender’s gaze softens. “Oh, Mione, you don’t have to explain—”

“Let me talk,” Hermione interrupts, just as gently. “I was...especially mad at you, you see. Well, because, I...I, well, I used to fancy you.”

Lavender gasps, staring at her with wide eyes. “ _Me_?” she whispers.

“Yeah, I...I _really_ fancied you. Especially when I started tutoring you for Arithmancy. You’re just so...much,” Hermione says, waving her hands because she’s not sure how to explain. She could make a list but _your hair, your eyes_ used to be at the top of it and that’s...that doesn’t belong to Lavender anymore. Hermione isn’t sure it ever did.

“How could you...fancy me?” Lavender whispers, but it’s almost like she’s talking to herself. “You’re...you’re Hermione _Granger_. You’re so pretty and strong and _smart_. Smarter than me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Hermione barks.

Lavender winces, and it solidifies the idea that Lavender might’ve been speaking to herself.

“I just...I can’t believe you fancied me. I’m really flattered,” Lavender says quietly. She smiles just a little. “Is that past tense—”

“Of course it is,” Hermione says snippily, rolling her eyes. Her gaze softens when Lavender giggles to herself. Hermione leans forward. “I just...wanted to tell you. I’m trying to be more open and what not.”

“I’m glad,” Lavender says. “It’s good to be open. I just want you to be happy.”

Hermione clears her throat, staring at her pointedly. “I want _you_ to be happy.”

“I am.”

“You’re lying,” Hermione says firmly. Lavender looks put out at being called out. “Why did you try to set me up with Ron when you clearly fancy him?”

“I-I—” Lavender stutters and then she stops. She looks away, rueful. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Lavender...I fancied you. I noticed _everything_ ,” Hermione says quietly.

Lavender flushes, gnawing on her bottom lip.

“I...I fancy him. I really like him, Hermione,” Lavender confesses in a rushed whisper. “He’s...he’s so funny and a little weird, and he...he treats me like a real person, you know? I’ve snogged a lot of boys, but they don’t always look at me like I’m a real _person_. He makes me feel like I’m real.”

Hermione smiles gently. “Then, why haven’t you told him?”

Lavender looks away.

“Well...the first boy that I was ever with made me feel...not real, even when I thought it was.”

Hermione flinches.

Lavender was talking about Tom Riddle.

One of the things that Hermione has always liked about Lavender is that she’s so fiercely loyal and forgiving. She’s also strong. Hermione remembers the hurt Lavender felt for that week, when she’d realized that Harry and Tom were together, when she’d learned that Harry had fucked him, that Harry _loved_ him. She remembers feeling so much respect when Lavender opened her arms to Harry again.

And yet—

_Yet._

Lavender is still hurting.

“Oh, I thought…” Hermione trails off.

“I know...I should be over it, I know,” Lavender falters. “I just...I really liked him, Hermione. I _really_ liked him.”

Her voice cracks.

“Oh, Lavender—”

“And I can’t even hate him _or_ Harry, you know? They are just...so in love. It’s rather tragical,” Lavender says, hiccuping a laugh. “They are so different and so the same. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. And I was so _angry_. When it happened. I felt so _stupid_. And I couldn’t stop thinking, _why not me?_ ”

Hermione stands up abruptly and rounds the table, grabbing her hands. Lavender stares at her in surprise.

“You’re _human_ , Lavender,” Hermione says quietly.

Lavender gives a tiny smile. “Yeah, I just...I don’t want something like that to happen again. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Hermione doubts that. Lavender is _strong_.

Lavender shakes herself and looks away. “I’m really glad that we’re friends,” Lavender says gently.

Hermione smiles. “I am too.”

She doesn’t let go of Lavender’s hands. Lavender doesn’t let go of her.

“Can I set you up with a girl?” Lavender asks excitedly. Hermione huffs out a quiet laugh, and she tries to ignore the considering look that Lavender sends her. “Unless…”

“Unless?” Hermione echoes.

“Unless there’s already a girl,” Lavender whispers. She bites her bottom lip and leans forward. “I don’t know...if you know. But, Malfoy’s no longer a prefect. Pansy Parkinson stepped forward to corroborate all of your accusations. She sealed the deal. He’s on watch now.”

Hermione’s heart beats just a little faster.

“Why would I care about Parkinson?” Hermione asks, and the words sound hollow, even to her.

Lavender hums, smiling gently. “I think you know why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just want to say that I'm finally up to date and with everything that's going on, my posting might not be exact. I have so much going on (organizing, posting bail, etc.) that fic has been put on an EXTREME backburner.
> 
> Of course, this fic is still my way of coping and making sure that you, also, can cope. So, I just wanted to keep you all as informed as possible.


	45. WEDNESDAY, 5:03 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione speaks with professor babbling.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "But I wanna hold you  
> Like it's June in the West End  
> Back when you were my best friend  
> Before love came to kill us  
> We're not supposed to  
> But I can't learn my lesson  
> I miss when you were my best friend  
> Before love came to kill us  
> So under the mask of the moon  
> Could we dance in the past?  
> Before love  
> Before love came to kill us"
> 
> -KILL US, Jessie Reyez

Hermione is still a good student. She takes notes. She listens attentively to her professor’s lecture, and she is still not the first to pack up when Professor Babbling launches into her ending remarks. Instead, she makes a note of the future due dates, and makes a mental note to write it down in her planner again as a pre-warning to the next warning.

She pretends that everything is okay.

She even pretends that she can’t feel the weight of Pansy’s eyes on her back.

The rest of her classmates surge out of the classroom with Professor Babbling’s dismissal, but Hermione takes her time.

“Professor Babbling, I need to speak with you before you leave,” Hermione calls so that Professor Babbling doesn’t simply disappear.

Professor Babbling smiles gently at Hermione, and Hermione smiles back, unbothered. Hermione packs up the rest of her things and stands. She leaves her bag behind, moving up to the front, standing in front of Professor Babbling’s desk, where she has the latest essays of the fifth years, half-graded.

“Hermione,” Professor Babbling says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

Hermione clears her throat and draws herself up. She stares at Professor Babbling, already preparing herself for the pushback that she’s sure to get with her new request.

“I’d like to ask if there’s any way that I can be graded separately on the project,” Hermione says firmly.

Professor Babbling falters, as expected. “Oh. Aren’t you working with Miss Parkinson?”

“Our work has proven to be more parallel than entwined.” Hermione winces at her poor metaphor, but she stands in her request, waiting to be heard out. “While our theses are related, I do think that our research is dissimilar enough that we’ll be tangentially associated, but not enough to be graded fairly together, when we’re focusing on two totally different—”

“Hold on, hold on, Hermione,” Professor Babbling says. Her brow is furrowed, and Hermione winces again because she  _ knows  _ that she was speaking far too fast. Professor Babbling sighs and looks up at Hermione again. “Did something happen? Did she say—”

“No,” Hermione says too fast. “We...just...er, didn’t work out.”

Professor Babbling raises an eyebrow. “I...see.”

Suddenly, Hermione thinks that Professor Babbling really  _ does  _ see. Hermione feels like Professor Babbling sees everything.

“I’m focusing on Nabataean. Pansy is focusing on oracle bone script,” Hermione finishes, keeping each of her words even and careful.

Professor Babbling frowns. “Hermione, I want you to know that I’m always here to talk if you need to.”

“I don’t,” Hermione insists. “I just...need to be graded separately.”

And Professor Babbling gives a great sigh. She doesn’t seem exhausted, just somehow sad.

“I’ll talk to Miss Parkinson,” Professor Babbling allows. “But, that’s all I can promise for now. We’ll discuss further steps afterwards.”

Hermione lets out a breath of fresh air. She bites her bottom lip and nods, fighting against her smile.

“Thank you so much, Professor!” Hermione says.

She turns on her heels and walks with more of a bounce in her step.

Hermione expects Pansy to be lingering by the doorway like last time. She tries to pretend that she isn’t disappointed when she sees that Pansy is long gone from the classroom. Hermione pushes away her bitterness for something more productive.

She clears her throat as she bends down to grab her bag and she frowns when she sees a small piece of folded spiral notebook paper at the very top. She doesn’t remember taking her parents’ latest letter from her dorm. She clears her throat, unfolding the paper.

She expects  _ Dear Jinan. _

Hermione does not get that.

She gasps when she sees the list.

_ Things I (Pansy Parkinson) Like About You (Hermione Jinan Granger): _

  1. _Your hair, the way it looks in the morning when you haven’t wrapped it in silk—mussed and frizzy_
  2. _Your eyes, when you learn something, the way they brighten_
  3. _Your smile, when you think I’m being ridiculous_
  4. _Your pigheadedness, when you insist that you’re right, even when you’re not_
  5. _Your intelligence, when you prove that sometimes you actually are right, and I’m not_
  6. _Your strength, when you stood up to everyone_
  7. _Your ambition._
  8. _Your kindness._
  9. _Your frustration._
  10. _Your faith._
  11. _Your Everything._



Hermione’s breath trembles. She takes the letter— _ Pansy’s  _ letter. Folds it along the crease.

Presses it back into her bag.


	46. THURSDAY, 8:22AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione has breakfast.
> 
> ~*~  
> "Now all I want is peace and quiet  
> For peace of mind, yeah  
> Peace and time, yeah, yeah
> 
> While I'm grievin' uh, oh  
> Grievin' us  
> I'm still grievin' uh, oh  
> Grievin' us"
> 
> -Grieving, Kehlani

“Hmmm bacon or sausage, do you think?” Ron asks.

Hermione rolls her eyes, exchanging a look with Ginny as Ron asks his question. Harry looks seriously considering, tapping his chin.

“I think bacon, yeah?” Harry suggests.

Ron nods once. “Yeah, I agree.”

He begins his elaborate routine of assembling his breakfast plate.

“Ron, this is truly not a Potions class. It doesn’t need to be this serious,” Ginny says.

Ron’s eyes narrow. “Ginny, I’ll have you know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Right, Lavender?”

Lavender giggles behind her hand and nod. Ginny rolls her eyes.

“ _Please_ don’t encourage me,” Ginny pleads.

It only makes Lavender laugh even harder. Hermione smiles to herself, redirecting her eyes back down to her plate. She eats her eggs and takes notes in her little spiral notebook. Hermione has been hard at work coming up with a more comprehensive idea about werewolf equity. She thinks that tomorrow’s dinner with Professor Lupin will help her flesh out ideas, and she wants to ask him and Sirius to come on as actual members of the board.

Every nonprofit needs a board, she thinks. Hermione adds something else to her mental to-do list:

_7\. Research magical financial laws._

“Do you think Sirius and Remus will want to be on the board of my nonprofit organization?” Hermione asks distractedly.

“Nonprofit?” Ginny asks.

“Not making profit,” Luna defines unhelpfully.

Ginny gives her an unimpressed look.

Harry looks thoughtful. “I don’t see why not. Sirius has always wanted to find more productive ways to spend his parents’ money. I don’t think he could find a better cause of sticking it to his bigoted parents than funding werewolf relief.”

“Excellent. I’ll try to have a presentation prepared by tomorrow,” Hermione declares.

Harry laughs. “You don’t have to have everything figured out. That wasn’t even the point of dinner tomorrow,” Harry points out.

“You’re having dinner with Sirius and Remus?” Ron demands. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Tom Riddle will be there,” Hermione says.

Ron makes a face. “Nevermind.”

“Do you not like Harry’s boyfriend?” Luna asks.

“No. He’s creepy,” Ron says firmly.

Harry smirks. “Fair.”

Hermione hums, preparing to turn back to her work when a familiar bird swoops down.

Inoue screeches at her and drops a letter right next to her plate, and then she disappears again, back up into the dark cloud of owls that hover above. Hermione frowns, expecting it to be folded spiral notebook paper, but she doesn’t quite recognize the handwriting, and the envelope is made of heavy parchment, the expensive kind.

“Who’s that from?” Harry asks curiously.

“I...don’t...know,” Hermione murmurs. She frowns. The front has her whole name: _Miss Hermione Jinan Granger_.

She turns it over and sees that it’s sealed with wax. Carefully, she opens the envelope, refusing to break the seal. She opens it and pulls forth the letter.

_Miss Granger,_

_I do hope this letter finds you well._

_I am Setsuko Parkinson, mother of Pansy Parkinson. I have heard much about you from my only daughter, my Pansy, who believes you to be one of the loveliest people that she has ever met. She tells me that you are strong in character and mind. She also tells me of your noble cause—werewolf relief._

_I do admit that I am quite intrigued by the idea, and I would love to sit down with you to have further discussion about the cause, if you would be amenable. I do state this with the intent to provide funds and to possibly negotiate membership of your board when your organization is fully functioning._

_While I originally hail from another country, my husband and myself do believe we hold considerable pull in the Ministry and would love to have you and the voices of those you serve heard._

_I look forward to hearing from you._

_Best wishes,_

_Setsuko Parkinson_

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Hermione whispers, her voice cracking.

“Is something wrong?” Luna asks.

Hermione shakes her head. She looks up sharply, searching the Slytherin table for Pansy.

And she’s nowhere to be seen.

Hermione closes her eyes and holds her letter to her chest, letting out a shuddering breath.

“Hermione, you’re making me nervous,” Harry says, sounding far more alert.

“I...I might have another person on my side. A pureblood with money,” Hermione explains. She tries to fight her smile, but she can’t. “I think this is really going to _work_.”

“Of course it is, Hermione,” Lavender says, buttering her toast. “You’re Hermione Granger; you can do anything.”

The rest of the Defence Squad nods, affirming Lavender’s words.

And while it’s nice that her friends believe in her, it’s nice that the girl _(that she has a complicated relationship with)_ believes in her too.

The girl talks to her mum about her.

Hermione finds it hard to breathe when she realizes it. She makes a list about her, the girl. At the very top:

  1. _I miss you._



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was out all day on Wednesday, and I was EXHAUSTED on Thursday!! So, here are 2 updates, covering both Wednesday and Thursday. I REALLY want to have Friday out on time, but we'll see! Possibly see you later!


	47. FRIDAY, 6:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione goes to dinner.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Kiss me, I'm the monster that you made, yeah, you made me  
> Now I'm just like you, so don't complain, yeah, you, made me  
> Do the things you like, hoping you'd stay, okay  
> Kiss me, I'm the monster that you made, you made me"
> 
> -DO YOU LOVE HER, Jessie Reyez

Hermione isn’t sure what she expects, sitting at dinner with Harry, Tom, Professor Lupin, and Sirius. When she’s experienced around half of it, she’s still not sure what’s going on.

Hermione and Professor Lupin— _call me Remus, remember?_ —are discussing some of the newfound revelations surrounding the werewolf relief fund. Sirius is sorta interjecting a stray opinion while engaging Tom on his job prospects, and Harry seems to be there, but also very much _not_ there. Hermione resolves to keep an eye on him.

“Times really are changing,” Remus says in awe after Hermione finishes her summary of her conversation with Barnabas Cuffe and Rosier, along with her letter from Setsuko Parkinson. “I really do believe that you’ve started something that will _work_.”

“Did you doubt it would?” Hermione doesn’t mean to sound cheeky. She’s being serious.

Remus gives her a tiny smile. “Well, in my day, people made a lot of promises that they couldn’t keep,” Remus says gently.

Hermione nods because she understands that.

“Salary negotiation is the key, Riddle, but I’m sure you know that,” Sirius says, pointing at Tom with his fork, before he turns to Hermione, his gaze flickering to show that he’s switched gears almost entirely. “You’ve got a name for your organization yet, Hermione?”

Hermione falters.

She’s done so much research on structure and funding. She’s even started to outline a _mission statement_.

But, she doesn’t have a _name_.

“Dropped the dragon egg there, didn’t you?” Harry teases.

Hermione rolls her eyes, fighting her smile. “Shut it, Harry,” she mutters. “I’ll come up with something.”

“Like what? S.P.E.W?” Harry teases.

“ _Spew_?” Tom repeats, nose wrinkling.

“The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” Hermione explains. She sighs when she sees Tom’sbewilderment. It's tiny, because Tom is typically emotionless, but it's _there_. “No, it didn’t work.”

“No, I imagine it wouldn’t. The magic that keeps house-elves bound to their masters abolishes thoughts of freedom,” Tom says. The way he says it makes Hermione think he finds it distasteful.

And then, what he _says_ registers with Hermione.

“I’m sorry, _what_ magic?” she blurts out.

Harry grabs her hand and squeezes. “One thing at a time,” he warns. “No burnout.”

Hermione falls back in her chair, frowning down at her half-empty plate. She knows the best ways to avoid burnout. She’s just bad at applying it to herself. Hermione sighs and then nods. Harry beams at her. He releases her hand.

Sirius grins. “Well, when you have a name, do let me know so that I can write out a hefty cheque. And let us know if you ever need to open an account at Gringotts, and I’ll assist,” Sirius says. Somehow, he bows even while sitting, with a quirky dip of his head.

Hermione smiles. “Thanks, I’ll take you up on it!” she says. She glances over at Remus, and she bites her bottom lip, because the way he _looks_ at Sirius is everything.

She wants that one day. Harry and Tom are a comet, bright and beautiful. But, when they leave one another— _if_ they leave one another—they will be scarred. They will be whole—they’re both remarkable on their own—but there will be scorch marks on their souls so that they always remember.

But, Remus and Sirius are warm and soft. Gentle and forgiving with an edge that demands growth together. They are remarkable together, solid and strong. Not even years in Azkaban could break them apart. Hermione envies it.

“Are you done with your food?” Remus asks.

It takes Hermione a moment to realize that he’s speaking to her. She scrapes up the last of her butter chicken and stuffs it into her mouth, swallowing fast. She nearly chokes, washing it down with water, and then she nods.

“Yes, I am!” Hermione says.

Remus grins and stands. “Good, I have something to show you. A few photos.”

Hermione jumps up, eager. She looks back at Sirius, Tom, and Harry. Sirius and Tom are talking about Tom’s job prospects in Italy now. And Harry looks ill and _confused_.

“Habibi, I’ll be right back,” Hermione says, because she needs him to know that she’s right there.

Harry startles and then he nods. “Okay.” Then, he turns to Tom, biting his bottom lip. “Can we go to the bedroom? I need to talk to you.”

Hermione follows Remus towards the sitting room. Remus stands by the bookshelf and pulls down a photo album. Hermione leans forward, eyes wide.

“Pictures of other werewolves or activists?” Hermione asks excitedly.

Remus laughs to himself, shaking his head and he leads Hermione to the sofa, nodding to the seat next to him.

“Not exactly,” Remus says.

And then, he flips open the photo album.

The very first page has a magical photo of Remus and Sirius as teenagers. If Hermione has to guess, they’re sixteen, and Remus looks exhausted but he’s standing there with Sirius on his back. He’s grinning, and then, suddenly, Sirius falls off and out of the frame. Hermione can almost hear the echo of their laughter.

“What is this?” Hermione asks, almost in awe.

“You were very brave, Hermione.”

Hermione jerks, looking up into Remus’ amber eyes.

“What?” she whispers.

“You were very brave,” he repeats. “I am so sorry that you were outed. It was a despicable thing and I’m glad Mr. Malfoy is facing repercussions for his actions. But, you spoke your truth in the Great Hall, and I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you yet. I’m immensely proud of you.”

Hermione’s cheeks grow hot and once again she thanks Allah for the melanin in her skin so her embarrassment doesn’t show.

“Thanks, Professor,” Hermione says, looking away.

This time, Remus doesn’t chastise her for her continued use of ‘Professor’.

“Sirius and I didn’t come out until we absolutely had to, when we had to adopt Harry,” Remus explains. “Our...friends knew about us. James and Lily, especially. But, we were so off and on that...it almost didn’t matter? Even if it really did.”

“It did matter,” Hermione repeats. She bites her bottom lip, thinking over her question. “How...did you become comfortable with your queerness, Professor?”

Remus flips the pages and there are more photos of them, young. There are a few spaces where the page is blank, and Hermione thinks that those are the photos that might have had Pettigrew in them. She feels a flicker of hate for someone that she has never met, purely because of the pain he has caused for people she loves.

Hermione pushes that hate away, looking at the magical photo of Sirius and James, chasing each other out of frame on brooms, and the still Muggle photo of Lily and Remus, talking about something in a shabby, if homey kitchen.

Remus hums. “Honestly...it was easier to come to terms with being gay than it was to deal with my lycanthropy. They were separate in my mind. Until they weren’t.”

“Oh, yes. I’m Black and Arab and a Muggleborn, and those things were always so much harder, compared to being a lesbian. I just...used to list it all out. Separate them all,” Hermione explains.

Remus hums, very thoughtfully. “I find that we can exist at the intersection of all of our identities. That’s what makes us whole, don’t you think?”

Hermione lets the wisdom resonate, reverberate, and she feels embarrassed as her eyes sting with tears.

“Yeah, I...I think I agree,” Hermione says even if she _fiercely_ wants to believe in it.

Sirius has finished stacking the plates by now, and he settles on the arm of the sofa, looking over Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione turns the page, slowly, allowing Remus and Sirius time to look at their life. It’s a picture of Remus dipping Sirius and kissing him slowly and then dragging him up, falling into a bow.

“We weren’t together in this photo,” Sirius observes.

“Really?” Hermione asks. They look so... _in_ love.

“I kissed him on a dare in our fifth year,” Remus laughs. “James thought that was what we needed to get together. _Dares_ and locking us in closets. We got together eventually. Seventh year, just like Lily and James.”

“Very rom-com,” Hermione comments.

Sirius frowns. “What the fuck is a rom-com?”

Hermione smothers her laughter in her arm. She wonders if rom coms have magical equivalents. The closest she can think are a few of the wireless programmes on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Hermione prepares to explain, and then she hears it.

“MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND, HARRY.”

Hermione jerks and immediately stands. Sirius and Remus exchange looks.

“Hermione—” Remus starts, but Hermione is already rushing into the bedroom, throwing the door open.

She falters.

Tom is standing stiffly, but other than that, there’s no indication that he’s yelled. Even still, his eyes seem to burn a more violent red and his fists are shaking. Harry glares at him, lips curling back over his teeth. Hermione tries to take a step forward, but Remus’ hand falls to her shoulder, anchoring her in place.

“You want me to make up my mind?” Harry hisses. “You want _me_ to decide what you do with the rest of your life, even though you won’t tell me shit about how you _feel_?”

“Well, you have so many _opinions—_ ” Tom retorts.

“Then _go!_ ”

Hermione gasps as Harry’s shoulders shake with the force of emotion. His cheeks are bright red, mouth twisted in his fury. And Tom is staring back at him, so _coldly_. It brings Hermione back to the greenhouse again. She remembers the way Harry broke down in her arms, because of this monstrous boy, because Hermione has seen enough of the cracks in Tom Riddle’s person suit to know that it’s a facade.

And yet, she knows that Harry _loves_ him. Harry will fall apart—

“Harry—” she starts.

Harry refuses to look at her. He stares at Tom and whispers, “Go.”

Tom turns on his heel and stalks out.

The door slams shut behind him.

It’s quiet. So quiet that Hermione can hear her own heart beating in her chest. She takes a step closer to Harry, looks over at Remus and Sirius. They’re staring at Harry, wide-eyed. Harry looks back down at his own outstretched finger. His hand falls to his loosely, and he looks back at Hermione.

A weak smile crosses his face.

“Well, that went well,” he whispers.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asks, gently.

Harry swallows hard. He looks like he’s about to nod. Then, he wraps his arms around his middle.

“Yes. _No,_ I—” Harry’s voice cracks. “No, I’m craving. I feel so...I’m _craving_.”

Sirius’s breath hitches. “Harry, do you need to call Miriam?” he asks gently.

Harry nods firmly. “Yes, I do. I need to call Miriam. I’m going to call Miriam,” he says softly and he turns on his heel, walking back to the bedroom, where the fireplace. He pauses in the doorway, and looks back at Hermione with dark green eyes. “Hermione, can you sit with me?”

Hermione moves before he finishes speaking. She laces her fingers with his because she knows that he wants to be held, and she wishes that Ron were here to sit on Harry’s other side.

“Of course,” Hermione whispers. “Let’s go call Miriam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First, I'm sorry for the Tomarry content. Had to be done. I promise to resolve so hang on.
> 
> Second, if it isn't clear, fuck JK Rowling. Reclaim Harry Potter through radical fanfiction. Trans Lives Matter, good night.


	48. SATURDAY, 8:49PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione tells all.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "My last made me feel like I would never try again  
> But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt  
> Come closer, I'll give you all my love  
> If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything  
> My last made me feel like I would never try again  
> But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt  
> Come closer, I'll give you all my love  
> If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything"
> 
> Falling, Trevor Daniel

“You know, I really don’t mind detention anymore. Grading fourth year Transformation essays is much better,” Hermione says.

She ignores Ron and Ginny’s false groans and teasing titters. Hermione really is telling the truth. It’s her second detention with Professor McGonagall. The first year essays were torture, but the fourth year essays, she doesn’t actually mind. It gives her a chance to brush up on theories that she’s forgotten, and Professor McGonagall liked her feedback so much that she’s been recommended to Professor Flitwick who has expressed an interest in having a student help with grading.

“Only _you_ would enjoy your detention doing _more_ homework,” Lavender sighs. She hums to herself, picking at the grapes that they had absconded from the kitchen to the Room of Requirement.

It’s a quiet night, and Hermione thinks that all the Saturday nights from now until the end of term will be quiet. Final exams are right around the corner and while Hogwarts students love their parties, the fifth and seventh years aren’t willing to risk poor OWL and NEWT grades for a good time.

Hermione wishes that everyone would keep up this amount of work ethic on a normal basis.

She rethinks that, though, because then it would be _much_ harder to be top of her year, and she likes being at the top, thank you very much.

She slots back into the conversation easily, which has moved on to Lavender’s summer internship with Witch Weekly. She’s talking about it animatedly, and going on about how the editor was quite impressed with her pension for Hogwarts gossip.

“You want more gossip?” Harry asks. He’s trying to sound like he doesn’t care, but there’s an edge to him.

“Yes,” Lavender insists, breaking off mid-sentence.

“So...I think Tom and I might’ve broken up?” Harry announces.

He sounds _loads_ better than he did yesterday, Hermione notices. He’s calm, after talking to Miriam last night, and then, he’d gone to see her in person this morning. Hermione thinks it’s good that Harry is being more active in his pursuit of good mental health.

Even still, the way he drops the news doesn’t do _anything_ for everyone else’s mental health.

Ron chokes over air.

Luna quite literally drops her Quibbler, her mouth open.

“ _What_?” Ginny and Lavender squawk in unison.

“You can ask Hermione. She was there,” Harry says. He’s looking away, pretending that he doesn’t care, but Hermione can read the tension in his jaw.

“Habibi,” she begins gently, but he minutely shakes his head. Hermione looks at everyone else. “It...didn’t sound like a break up, exactly. Just a fight.”

Lavender looks relieved. “Okay, then. Just a fight. A fight is fine.”

“A really, _really_ big fight,” Hermione finishes.

Lavender looks crushed.

“What could you possibly fight over?” Ron demands. “You’re perfect together.”

“No one’s perfect,” Luna says sagely. She’s gathered her bearings. She folds her Quibbler neatly and sets it to the side. She tucks her feet under her body and leans forward, taking Harry’s hand firmly in one of hers. “I think Hermione isn’t the only one bad at communication.”

“ _Hey!_ ” both Harry and Hermione bark.

Ginny snorts. “Seriously, though, what did you even fight over?”

“Tom...has all of these opportunities. He’s being offered jobs globally. You know that. I just...he’s not being open about what’s going to happen next? Are we breaking up? Does he expect me to follow him after we graduate? He hasn’t said _anything_ ,” Harry explains.

Hermione frowns at him.

“Did you tell him what you want?” she asks.

“It’s not that easy,” Ginny dismisses almost immediately. “It’s scary.”

Harry and even Lavender nod their agreement.

“I don’t want to seem... _weak_ ,” Harry sighs, looking away.

“But, you’d rather look mad for absolutely no reason?” Hermione retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. “You have to make it clear what you’re looking for, Harry, or he’ll have no reason to stay. He’s not a mind reader—”

“He’s actually a Legilimens,” Harry interrupts.

Hermione glares. “You _know_ what I mean,” she warns. “You have to tell him what you want out of your relationship. You have to be _clear_ what you expect from him as a partner or you’ll fall apart.”

There’s a beat of silence. Harry stares at her in shock, but her words seem to be getting through to him. Hermione knows that Harry won’t do anything right away—he’s exceptionally stubborn—but she thinks that he might really consider her advice.

“Whoa, Hermione,” Ron murmurs. He settles back on his hands, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione like he’s enjoying the show.

“When did you get so good at giving advice?” Lavender squeaks.

Ginny smiles, trying to restore levity. “Yeah, for someone that’s never had a significant other—”

“I have,” Hermione blurts out.

There’s a beat of silence.

Luna laughs. Everyone looks at her. And then, Luna says, “I knew it.”

“Who _is_ it?” Lavender practically growls.

Hermione bites her bottom lip.

In for a penny, out for a pound.

“Pansy Parkinson. We were...together. For a _tiny_ bit.”

Lavender _shrieks_.

Hermione glares, clapping her hands over her ears. Lavender tugs one arm away and continues her squealing.

“Tell me _everything_! How did it happen? When did it happen? How did you _keep_ this from us? _Why_?”

“Well, I wasn’t really out for most of it,” Hermione mutters under her breath. She takes a deep breath and looks around at all of them. They all scoot forward, assembling in a circle around her, waiting. “Okay, if I tell you, you have to be _quiet_. That means _you_ , Lavender.”

Lavender pouts.

Ron grins, looping an arm around her shoulders, one arm clapping over her mouth. “I’ll keep her quiet.”

Lavender settles almost immediately, her cheeks tingeing pink.

Hermione hums. “Good.”

And then she begins recounting her tale. She finds that once she starts, she can’t stop. She tells them about the disastrous first tutoring session, in which Hermione had embarrassed herself. She tells them about her apology, in the courtyard, when she’d first noticed Pansy’s thighs and Pansy’s wit. She tells them about their subsequent study sessions, and the way Pansy pushes back, refusing to let Hermione do all the work.

She tells them about that weekend, when Hermione went home and there was Pansy, waiting on her doorstep on Saturday morning. She tells them about Tesco’s and she tells them about the kiss in the rain.

_(Things she does not tell them about:_

  1. _Sunday morning. Sunday morning belongs to her and Pansy and every Hermione and Pansy in every universe. No one else.)_



She tells them about that week of bliss and then, she tells them about how it fell apart.

And when she’s done, Hermione feels like a snake, shedding off the excess, born anew.

“Wow, that’s...that’s crazy,” Ginny murmurs, almost reverent. “So, you’re really done? You and Pansy?”

“Of course they’re done. Parkinson didn’t defend her,” Ron barks.

“Well, she did,” Hermione corrects. Ron startles. “A little late though. When he asked to talk to me, she threatened him. Told him to leave off or she'd curse him. And then, she told her mum about me.”

“She told her _mum_?” Harry whispers. “That’s...that’s a big deal, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Luna asks calmly.

“Yes,” Lavender confirms. “That means she’s _serious_. How do you know she told her mum about you?”

“Well, her mum wrote me—”

“ _Very_ serious, then,” Harry says.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Her mum was actually offering to invest in my werewolf relief fund,” Hermione explains. She pauses. “And then...Pansy dropped this note in my bag. About all the things she likes about me.”

“Oh, that’s so _romantic_ ,” Lavender swoons.

Hermione hums. “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t really get it. Does she want to get back together? Or is she just trying to apologize to me? I need answers.”

“And you deserve them,” Harry agrees.

Luna leans forward. “What if you wrote her a letter?”

“A letter?” Hermione asks.

Lavender’s eyes widen at the idea. “A letter sounds _perfect_. Love letters are the best, aren’t they? You can get all of those _torrid_ thoughts out on the page—”

“Please, Lavender,” Ginny sighs.

Hermione considers it. A letter is perfect. A letter is clear and concise. Words are logical. Hermione is good at words. She can get her point across exactly.

The Room seems to sense her decision as a roll of parchment, a quill, and inkwell are presented to her with immediacy. Hermione takes the quill in hand, dips it, and then pauses.

“What...what should I write?” Hermione asks.

Harry takes the lead on this one. “Make sure she knows that you care about her, right? But, you write what you want, you know? Make it clear so that there can’t be any confusion?”

He says it all in questions, but it sounds perfect.

Hermione hums and begins to craft her letter, painstakingly curving each letter. She pauses on the second line.

“Smiley face?” Hermione suggests.

Harry glares. “No smiley face. Just the question. You’re the one that told me that you have to be _clear_ about what you want in a partner. No games, Mione,” Harry says firmly, reciting her own advice back at her.

Hermione nods and finishes her note with a flourish. She presents it to the rest of the Defence Squad.

_Dear Pansy,_

_You have to cut it out. You need to tell me what you want._

_I care for you. Deeply._

_But, I want a partner who will stand up with me, be proud of me, and is unwilling to look away from bigotry. I won’t settle. I don’t deserve to. Neither do you._

_Hermione_

“Perfect. No nonsense,” Ron agrees.

Lavender frowns at it. “It’s not terribly romantic, is it?”

“It’s not _supposed_ to be,” Ginny insists. “This is business.”

That gets a nod from Ron.

“Okay. How will I get it to her?” Hermione asks.

Luna hums. “Ask and the Room shall provide.”

Almost on cue, the parchment rolls up and this disappears with a soft puff. The Defence Squad all stare, wide-eyed at where the parchment just was. Only Luna seems unbothered and she nods, a tiny smile on her face.

“The Room will make sure it gets where it needs to go,” Luna says with the utmost authority and even Hermione can’t question her.

The Room is always _quite_ good at adapting.

The Defence Squad sit in silence for a moment. And then: “Do you think she’ll respond? I hope she responds. It would be _most_ tragical if she doesn’t, and you deserve the best things, Hermione, you really—”

“Thanks, Lavender,” Hermione interrupts loudly, grinding her teeth.

She’s nervous. She’s _so_ fucking nervous.

“Well, if she doesn’t respond, that’s _her_ loss,” Ginny says firmly.

“Yeah, there are plenty of other girls, Hermione. She’s a Slytherin anyway,” Ron says with his nose wrinkled.

And Hermione doesn’t want to say it but all she can think was: _I don’t want other girls. I want_ **_this_ ** _one, because she’s everything_.

The others speak quietly amongst themselves, voices gentle, but Hermione can’t quite make herself participate. She’s lost in her own thoughts, wondering at Pansy’s reactions. She wonders if Pansy will look at her letter and burn it, throw it away, decide that it’s too much, decide that Hermione’s too much, decide that Hermione’s not worth—

There’s a knock on the door.

It booms through the Room of Requirement, echoing in an unnatural way.

All of the Defence Squad sits up, eyes wide, and they exchange looks. Hermione stands to her feet, smoothing her hair over her curls. She swallows hard and throws her shoulders back. Hermione wrenches the door open.

And there she is.

Pansy Parkinson.

She’s not wearing her uniform. She’s wearing jeans and a Slytherin sweater. Her chest is heaving, her hair a complete mess. She looks like she just rolled out of bed, like she read Hermione’s note, and she came to running. Pansy runs a shaky hand through her hair and stares at Hermione, helpless and hopeful.

“Princess,” Pansy whispers.

“Pansy,” Hermione murmurs.

“Well.”

Hermione flinches at Ginny’s voice and she turns around. The rest of the Defence Squad are all staring, clambering over each other to get a better view. Hermione’s brow creases and she glares at them, wishing them gone.

A second door materializes across the room.

“Okay, get out,” Hermione commands.

“ _What_?” Lavender blurts out.

Hermione steps back, allowing Pansy over the threshold, but she keeps her stare on Defence Squad.

“Get out. Now,” Hermione insists.

And then, she catches Harry’s eyes. Harry jumps up and grabs Lavender and Ron’s wrists, pulling them over. “Okay, we’re going,” Harry blurts out, and then they’re rushing out the second door, Ginny and Luna looking over their shoulders wide-eyed.

The second door slams shut and then disappears.

Pansy bites her bottom lip.

Closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow, my mind. I truly wrote all of this in the past 2 hours. I refused to go to bed without somewhat catching up. There's one more chapter that's, like, a Saturday chapter, and then tomorrow, there SHOULD be a Sunday chapter. Hopefully, I get both of them up, so that we're back on track for the last three weeks of HEX!!!
> 
> Truly, this story and your comments bring me so much joy in a really sad and heavy time, so thanks!!


	49. SATURDAY, 9:27PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and pansy reunite
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Honey, on your knees when you look at me  
> I'm dressed like a fucking queen and you're begging, "please"  
> I rule with the velvet tongue  
> And my dress undone  
> And I'll get you lost but I'm having fun  
> Holy, holy, holy, yeah  
> Holy, holy, holy"
> 
> -Holy, King Princess

Hermione bites her bottom lip.

She shifts, alleviating pressure from the back of her legs. She’s kneeling on one of the pillows. Pansy is kneeling across from her, completely silent. 

Pansy clears her throat, opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, and then, she shuts it again. Hermione thinks she might be afraid. Hermione _knows_ she’s afraid, and she wishes that she wasn’t.

“Hey Pansy,” Hermione says.

“Hey, Princess,” Pansy says, voice cracking. She leans forward. “I didn’t...I didn’t think you’d ever look at me again, you know?”

“I am _always_ looking,” Hermione says firmly. “Especially in the places where you aren’t.”

Pansy’s tense shoulders collapse and she sags, looking _exhausted._

“You’re right. I haven’t been honest. I’ve hidden things from you and that’s not right. It isn’t _fair_. And God, I...you’re right, I should’ve defended you. The thing with Draco is... _inexcusable_. I cut him out of my life because I can’t...I can’t be friends with someone like that. But, I haven’t told you anything about me, because I am...terrified,” Pansy whispers. “I am terrified that you’ll think differently of me. And I don’t think I could bear it.”

Her voice is raw and strained, like she’s been crying, and Hermione wants to pull her in close, wants to tuck her wet face into the crook of her neck and kiss her head until she stops.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” Hermione whispers. “You could _never_ scare me away.”

Pansy swallows. “The thing is...I’m always scared,” Pansy begins. She falters. And then, she says, “You make me want to be brave.”

And Hermione can see it. She can see it behind the bravado.

“Then, let me be brave for both of us, until you can manage it too,” Hermione insists.

And then, she’s shuffling forward, crossing the divide. She throws her arms around Pansy’s shoulders and hugs her tight. Pansy sags into her, holding her tight and Hermione has missed this warmth. She’s missed the feel of Pansy against her and she’s missed the way Pansy tastes.

Into her shoulder, Pansy asks, “Be patient with me, please? I just need time, because I want to explain myself right. I want to be brave. And I should’ve...I should’ve just _said_ that.”

Hermione sighs and nods against Pansy’s temple.

“Okay, Pansy. Okay. I’ll wait.”

Pansy pulls back and she visibly pulls herself together. Hermione watches it happen. She watches Pansy wipe her hands over her face, straightening her sweater. She wonders if it’s a pureblood thing. She wonders how many times Pansy had to pretend to be okay because it was what was expected of her as a pureblood heiress.

“But, there’s something else,” Pansy declares.

Hermione frowns. “What is it?”

“I _love_ you, Hermione Jinan Granger.”

Hermione gasps.

“What?”

“I love you,” Pansy repeats. “And I can tell you all of the reasons why.”

Wordlessly, Hermione nods.

“I love you because you’re a know-it-all. I love you because you’re strong. And beautiful. And your ambition. I love every part of you—your Blackness, your Arab-ness, your queerness. Your _stubbornness_. Your _pigheadedness_. Your kindness. All of you is perfection to me, in the most imperfect ways,” Pansy whispers, reverent and in awe. And Hermione trembles. “But, most of all—”

“Your hair,” Hermione breathes. She reaches forward, touching Pansy’s cheek. “Your _eyes_.”

And then Hermione lunges forward.

Pansy catches her and Hermione kisses her hungrily, licking into her mouth. When Pansy tries to push back, tries to gentle Hermione, Hermione doesn’t let up. Hermione presses her hands to Pansy’s ribs and kisses her hard. Her hands tug at Pansy’s sweater and Pansy seems to get the memo. She pulls her sweater over head, leaving her in a lace bra.

Hermione admires the black lace against Pansy’s skin and then drags her tongue over the trim. Pansy groans, her hands falling onto Hermione’s shoulders. Hermione looks up at her, eyes burning, squeezing her thighs together because her core burns.

“Pull my hair,” Hermione instructs clinically. “And unbutton your pants.”

Pansy grabs her hair and yanks. Hermione groans.

Pansy grins against her throat. “Unbutton yours.”

Hermione plucks open the button of her jeans and shucks it down her thighs, and then, it’s a competition of who can undress first. Hermione wins because she’s always prided herself on being a winner, and she finds that she wins in more ways than one.

Pansy stands before her in a black sheer high waisted knicker and lacy bra. Hermione swallows back saliva because she wants to swallow this girl _whole_.

She grabs Pansy’s hand and spins her around, backing her up to the bed that the Room so _helpfully_ provides. Pansy falls back with a light grin and Hermione climbs on top of her, straddling her waist as she kisses her slowly.

Pansy hums as Hermione slides her hand into her knickers, fingers dragging over her waxed mound. Hermione has never done so much personal grooming. For a moment, she goes into her head and wonders if she should be doing the same. And then, she sees the way Pansy looks at her, like she’s everything, and she pushes her insecurities away.

“You’re very forward,” Pansy teases.

“I know what I want. I want _you_ ,” Hermione says. She reaches behind her to unhook her bra, letting it fall free and she gets up on her knees, struggling to pull down her underwear. Pansy hums as she tugs them down and undresses herself until they're both completely naked.

They lay on their sides for a moment and then Hermione pushes her back and presses her lips to Pansy’s breasts again, licking down to her nipple and nibbling on it. Pansy lets out a cry—a _good_ one, Hermione can tell the difference—and Hermione worries her nipples more until they’re both pink and pebbled and perfect.

Hermione touches all of that skin and imagines she’s leaving a burning trail there, down Pansy’s flat abs down her thighs, up them to her folds and Hermione presses her fingers to her clit.

Pansy hums. “I-inside me. Inside me and I’ll do the same for you,” Pansy gasps.

Hermione rears back for just a moment. She bites her bottom lip and nods and looks around and then she gasps when she sees the tiny cauldron of lube.

“The Room provides,” Hermione laughs as she presents the cauldron and Pansy laughs with her, breathily.

They both are in a hurry, pressing their fingers in, shoving the other off to slick up their fingers and then Hermione’s hand is between Pansy’s legs again and Pansy’s between hers. Hermione is slower than Pansy and she gasps when a slick, _warm_ finger slides into her. She moans because it’s a _tight_ fit and she wants to push it out but she doesn’t want to.

It’s not uncomfortable, just _foreign_.

Pansy kisses the sound out of her mouth, slowly moving fingers, stretching her thumb to rub at her clit and Hermione shudders.

She tries to focus, parting Pansy’s folds, pressing her finger in and Pansy hums immediately.

“Another,” she demands though Hermione’s only pressed one finger in and she’s still getting used to the _hot_ core of Pansy’s body, the way she’s right there, inside of her and how lovely and soft she feels.

“Be patient,” Hermione instructs even as she slides another finger in and crooks her fingers.

Pansy’s hum turns into a high keening sound and her finger juts forward, brushing over a ridge inside of Hermione that makes her back arch.

It’s a game of give and take and take and give.

Hermione feels her body burn as Pansy caresses her, Pansy kisses her shoulders and her lips and her breasts, and Hermione returns the favor. She can tell when Pansy is about to cum because she begs for faster and for Hermione to touch her clit, and Hermione obliges. She feels Pansy clench down as she orgasms, but she doesn’t squirt like Hermione did, that first time.

Pansy gasps, shuddering through it, her pussy spasming three times around Hermione’s fingers before she finishes, her pale cheeks bright red now.

“O-oh,” Pansy stutters, humming.

She looks lethargic, almost drunk, but she slowly rolls onto her knees, parting Hermione’s legs. Hermione falls onto her back, staring up at Pansy.

“Just...just let me love you,” Pansy whispers and then she’s laying chest to chest with Hermione, one hand between Hermione’s thighs, two fingers inside of Hermione.

It’s slow and Pansy rolls her hips each time and Hermione’s breath catches in her throat each time.

“Oh, _oh, oh—one more hard—”_

Pansy does as Hermione commands.

And then Hermione is undone.

She shakes through it, her body burning and trembling as her vision goes white.

When she comes back to herself, Pansy is no longer on top of her. Pansy lays on her stomach next to her, face turned towards Hermione. Hermione curls towards her, reaching out with her clean hand, lacing their fingers together.

Pansy squeezes hard.

“I _love_ you,” Hermione whispers.

Hermione _promises._

“I have dreamed of this many times,” Pansy whispers, her voice trembling, the vulnerability of it cutting to Hermione’s core. “And in my dreams, we are _always_ together.” [1]

Hermione is _exhausted_.

Her eyelids droop. “Pansy…”

“Yes, Princess?” Pansy murmurs.

Hermione shuts her eyes, exhausted and drained. “When we get up, we have to talk.”

“Okay...okay…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Vikings (can't remember the episode but Lagertha says it about Ragnar and it's perfect)
> 
> ~*~
> 
> A/N: Ah, I'm nearly caught up! One more chapter and then we'll be all caught up! Hopefully, we'll stay that way!


	50. SUNDAY, 11:12AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione and pansy negotiate.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Soft touch, warm skin  
> Nothing like my ex-man  
> Slowly falling, I don't want my next man  
> I've never felt this way before  
> He never called me beautiful  
> Like you do, like you do
> 
> Now I'm in uncharted water  
> Territory getting hotter  
> And I think I like it, I think I like it, cause"
> 
> -Only A Girl, Gia Woods

When Hermione wakes up, Pansy is gone.

At first, she feels nothing.

At first, she thinks nothing but, _of course_.

Pansy and Hermione are not like Sirius and Remus. Pansy is a strike of lightning, a once-in-a-lifetime hurricane, and those always dissipate. Hermione is naked under the sheets and she misses the storm, bone-deep.

And then, she hears the water running. Hermione sits up in bed, the sheets falling around her naked waist. She swings her feet over the side of the bed and slowly stands to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. She grabs her wand. Hermione reaches back, grabbing the sheet and she wraps it around her figure, slowly padding towards the sound.

She startles when she sees the archway that hadn’t been there the night before. Hermione looks down the narrow tunnel and slowly she walks, unafraid. She lifts her wand and squints when she’s met with brightness at the end of the tunnel.

“Good morning.”

Hermione’s jaw drops.

Pansy is sitting in the massive prefect’s bathroom bathtub. The bathwater is rose, smelling of gentle perfumes. She leans back against the edge of the tub, one arm over the lip and she smiles gently up at Hermione. Hermione looks around, admiring the tall glass windows and the stain glass of the anatomically incorrect mermaid.

The mermaid giggles and winks, conspiratorially.

“You’re still here,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy’s smile falters. “Of course, I am.”

“I mean, you’re here in the prefect’s bathroom,” Hermione rambles, but it’s too late. Pansy looks a little more cautious now. Hermione swallows hard. “I’m...sorry.”

“No, don’t...don’t apologize,” Pansy says, shaking her head. She sighs to herself.

“No, I should. That was uncalled for,” Hermione says firmly. “How did you...we get here?”

“I missed the prefect’s bathroom. And the Room provided,” Pansy says with a shrug. She moves to get out of the water, but Hermione holds up a hand. Pansy pauses, half standing in the water, her perfect nipples peeking over the rose water.

Hermione drops the sheet and Pansy’s gaze darkens.

“Just...I’ll get in with you,” Hermione says. She’s not even nervous. She doesn’t think she’ll ever feel anxious about her body with Pansy ever again. Hermione slips into the water and crosses the Olympic sized tub until she’s standing right in front of Pansy. She sinks closer, feeling their water-slick skin slide.

Pansy bows her head until their foreheads are touching, their nose too.

“Good morning,” Pansy repeats, voice softer.

“Good morning,” Hermione murmurs and she leans up, pressing her lips against Pansy’s. Pansy hums. This isn’t a hungry kiss. It’s slow and memorable, though. Their tongues slide and Hermione wraps one arm around Pansy’s neck, fingering the wet ends of her bob.

Pansy’s hands fall to Hermione’s waist, tugging her in and Hermione sighs resting all of her weight against Pansy.

Pansy pulls back to breathe, bringing a wet hand to Hermione’s cheek. “Merlin, you are _gorgeous_ , aren’t you?”

Hermione laughs quietly, shaking her head. “No, I’m—”

“Don’t complete that thought. I don’t want to hear the first time Hermione Granger is _wrong._ I don’t think I could bear it,” Pansy drawls.

Hermione rolls her eyes. Pansy laughs again and arches her back, leaning over to grab her wand. Hermione takes advantage, biting at her collarbone, kissing down to her breasts. Pansy groans as she waves her wand, distractedly and there’s a soft clicking sound, once twice and then, the tinny sound of music echoes through the bathroom.

“Hermione...Hermione…” Pansy warns gently.

Hermione pulls off, laughing to herself. “One night again, and I lose all self-control,” she says, half-pleased and half-admonishing. She pauses as she listens to the music and her eyes widen when she recognizes the song despite the poor quality. “This is _Muggle_ music. This is _Lauryn Hill_.”

“Yeah, thought I’d take a listen. It’s good,” Pansy acknowledges. “I still prefer Stromae, but—”

Hermione groans and her hands splash through the water. “I want to kiss you again, but I _shouldn’t_.”

Pansy laughs. “Why shouldn’t you?”

Hermione frowns. “Because we don’t even know what we are?”

Pansy’s laugh cuts off immediately. “What do you mean? Hermione, I _love_ you. I am _in_ love with you.”

Hermione gasps, because Pansy had said it but hearing it in the daytime, it’s...it’s…

“You’re the woman of my dreams,” Hermione blurts out.

Pansy rears back and then her lips split into a wide grin. “Oh? I’m the woman of your dreams? You’re talking about _me_?”

Hermione groans, looking away. “Pansy—”

Then, there’s a loud splash and Pansy is _right_ there, in her face. “Say it again. Say it.”

And her lips are a breath away and Hermione sighs, “You’re the woman of my dreams.”

And Pansy is diving in again, licking her way into Hermione’s mouth, her delicate hands on either side of Hermione’s face as she holds her in place. Hermione’s back arches and she doesn’t even mind how her hair gets wet, how it’s going to frizz and she’s going to have to gel it flat for the day, and do it tonight even though it’s not wash day. It’s going to fuck with her schedule, but she doesn’t care because Pansy is there, _kissing_ her, stealing her breath away.

Hermione rubs her thighs together and shoves closer, dragging a hand down to the apex of Pansy’s thighs and rubbing her clit and Pansy groans.

Pansy pulls back, shaking her head, moaning.

“What? Why?” Hermione demands.

Pansy huffs. “ _You’re_ the one that said we had to talk. Last night, you said we had to talk.”

Hermione blinks because she doesn’t know if she remembers saying that. Maybe sometime between her orgasm and sleep?

But, Hermione knows that they _do_ need to talk, and suddenly, she wishes that she had written out some talking points.

“Right. Right,” Hermione murmurs. “We need...to talk about our relationship.”

“How so? We’re girlfriends, right?” Pansy asks.

Hermione nods.

“Yes, but I think...we need a contract,” Hermione decides.

Pansy raises an eyebrow. She drags her fingers through the bubbly water, cutting through the suds until she’s wading right in front of Hermione. Her toes brush against Hermione’s shin, and Hermione doesn’t even shiver. Hermione stares up at her, long and hard, waiting for her to push back on it.

“Okay,” Pansy concedes. Hermione doesn’t quite manage swallowing her surprise. Pansy laughs. “You didn’t expect me to agree?”

“No, I didn’t,” Hermione says honestly.

Pansy’s lips curl into a secret smile. “Good to know that there are still things about me that surprise you.” She punctuates the words with a gentle kiss to Hermione’s lips.

Hermione gives in, tasting the sweetness of Pansy’s own tongue. And then she pulls back, staring up at her sternly.

“No more kissing until we’re done with negotiations,” Hermione insists.

Pansy laughs. “Ho-ho, _negotiations_ ,” she teases. And then she sighs. “Aww, don’t pout, Princess. I’m only joking.”

“Well, this isn’t a joking _matter,_ Pansy. I’m serious,” Hermione says as severely as she can manage.

“Alright, I’ll be good.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and slowly settles on the seat next to Pansy. She curls towards her, throwing her legs over Pansy’s lap and Pansy hums, tugging her closer. Hermione will allow it.

“I think...that I can’t go back into the closet,” Hermione says. “You don’t have to come out, but we can’t be together because I can’t...I can’t be that way anymore.”

“Done. Let’s get breakfast tomorrow,” Pansy declares.

Hermione falters. “Ah, really?”

“Yeah, I’ll sit with your little Gryffindor friends,” Pansy says with a scoff. “And you can talk to Daphne and Millicent. They’re cool, promise. Daphne doesn’t even believe in pureblood supremacy, she’s just kinda a bitch, and Millicent will keep her in line.”

Hermione had never even considered meeting Pansy’s friends. “Okay, so we meet each other’s friends. That’ll be part of it. We have to be friendly,” she says pointedly.

Pansy smirks. “I can do friendly.”

Somehow, Hermione doubts that.

“Tell me when I’m wrong,” Pansy says suddenly. “And I’ll tell you when you are. Because sometimes you are; don’t look at me that way, Hermione.”

Hermione sighs. “Fine,” she mutters. “No bigots. I’m serious, Pansy. We can’t be together if you’re around anyone that has a problem with me or any other marginalized people.”

“ _Done._ Done, done, done. And that means people that don’t speak up too. I’ll talk to Millie and Daphne. I’ll make it _clear_ ,” Pansy says firmly. She looks vaguely ashamed for a moment. “I think...that with Draco, especially, they were taking cues from me. That doesn’t absolve them, but it explains why. I let him get away with a lot of shit, and I shouldn’t have. I’m going to be better though.”

Hermione’s gaze softens. She bites her bottom lip and nods, leaning in to press a kiss to Pansy’s cheek, nuzzling her. Pansy looks up at her hopefully. She turns her face, brushing her lips against Hermione’s.

“One more thing,” Hermione says.

Pansy hums. “Okay.”

“Above all, we have to be truthful with one another,” Hermione says firmly.

Pansy’s face falls. “Hermione—”

“I mean about our feelings. You were honest about why you weren’t telling me about your...illness. You're scared. I just want to know that so I can support you as best as I can, and I deserve the same from you, okay?” Hermione says firmly.

Pansy nods. “Of course. Always. I’ll always defend you. I’ll always support you. Emotionally and otherwise.” She seals her words with a kiss.

Hermione slides properly into Pansy’s lap and somehow, water makes this feel even better, breasts pressed to breasts, soft curves and wet flesh. She pulls back, looking down at Pansy with dark eyes.

“Let’s have sex,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy laughs and nods.

“And after, we can even sign a contract if it makes you feel better,” Pansy teases.

Hermione takes her to be serious. She’s already drafting it in her head as she shuts Pansy up with a kiss.


	51. MONDAY, 8:05AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is a debut.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Diamonds on fleek  
> Bitch, I ain't talking about the heat, oh  
> Put it on, streets  
> We straight out the streets  
> We straight out the streets  
> Straight out the streets to a penthouse"
> 
> -Clout (Feat. Cardi B), Offset

“Go on ahead. I’ll...I’ll catch up in a moment,” Hermione calls.

Harry lingers in the doorway, Ron peeking over his shoulder curiously. Hermione shifts, biting her bottom lip. Harry’s gaze sweeps over her, as if he’s taking her in. Hermione suddenly feels self-conscious in her outfit. She looks nice today. She’s wearing her best uniform. She’s even done her hair, two curly puffs atop her head, the rest big around her shoulders. She had Lavender shape her _eyebrows_ last night.

She thinks it shows.

“Okay,” Harry says with a shrug.

Ron still watches her, concerned, but he follows Harry.

Hermione twists on her heel and looks around. She swallows as a few Ravenclaws come down the stairs and a group of Hufflepuffs from the basement. They don’t actively look for her anymore—she’s old news—but she still sees the recognition in their eyes. They see her and think, _Oh that’s girl, Hermione Granger. Yeah, she’s a lesbian. Had a crush on Parkinson I heard_.

 _Jokes on you_ , Hermione thinks. _Parkinson has a crush on_ me.

Hermione sighs, wondering if she’ll even make it. Pansy’s not great with plans.

And just as she doubts, three Slytherins emerge from the dungeons.

Hermione’s eyes widen on Daphne Greengrass with her icy blonde hair and Millicent Bulstrong, big and broad and still sort’ve pretty. Greengrass hums as she steps to the side and there’s _Pansy_.

Pansy is beautiful, she always is, but there’s a sharpness to her eyeliner. She has a fresh trim to her bob, cut just a little too short towards the back. Hermione can see the buckles of her suspenders at her thighs. Her heels click with each step. And her bright red lips curl into a grin when she sees Hermione.

“She really _is_ pretty when she wants to be,” Greengrass murmurs to Bulstrode, like Hermione can’t hear her.

“Daphne,” Pansy snarls.

Greengrass rolls her eyes. “It was a _compliment_. You’ve done well, Parkinson,” Greengrass says. She looks over Hermione again and nods. “Be good to her, Granger. But only as good as she deserves.”

And then she’s marching away Bulstrode, not another word.

“Good morning, Princess,” Pansy murmurs as she sweeps forward, settling her hands on Hermione’s shoulders and then she leans down to kiss her.

Hermione almost doesn’t hear the gasp.

“Good morning, ya amar,” Hermione whispers back when Pansy pulls back.

Pansy grins down at her. “Greengrass and Bulstrode like you.”

“Do they really?” Hermione asks weakly.

Pansy shrugs. “If they didn’t, you’d know.”

Hermione snorts and accepts that as is.

“Well...this is going to be a surprise for _my_ friends,” Hermione says.

She had refused to disclose anything about her night with Pansy and she knows it’s killing the Defence Squad, _especially_ Lavender. But, Hermione wanted to keep to herself, like she wanted to keep that Sunday to herself. Eventually, Luna had helped convince them. Or distracted them with some imaginary creature. Hermione’s still confused.

“Then, this will be fun,” Pansy says with a grin and she throws her arm over Hermione’s shoulder.

And then they move forward.

Hermione squirms as she leans into Pansy’s side and they walk together.

As they pass through the doors to the Great Hall, there is a noticeable shift when the first students notice them. But, Hermione barely notices them.

Her gaze is trained on the Defence Squad. They aren’t the last to notice, but they certainly aren’t the first. Luna notices first and she elbows Ginny who elbows Ron. Ron stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open to reveal eggs on his tongue.

“Classy,” Pansy whispers against her temple.

Hermione snorts and slaps her hand back against Pansy’s stomach. Pansy catches it, bringing it up to her lips to brush a kiss to her knuckles.

Hermione nearly melts.

And then, they’re there, in front of the Defence Squad.

“Um...hi,” Hermione says.

The Defence Squad falls completely silent.

Hermione looks at Harry, because even if he doesn’t claim it, he’s their leader and everyone knows it.

“Hello,” Harry says quietly. “I see why you were waiting around before.”

“Yeah,” Hermione murmurs. “We...we wanted to sit down for breakfast. If that’s okay, habibi.”

“You certainly don’t need my permission, Hermione, and you know it,” Harry says firmly. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

Harry’s careful with his word choice. That seems to decide the tone for almost everyone.

 _Almost_.

Lavender, on the other hand, looks even more alert. She glowers up at Pansy, fiercely, or as fierce as someone that resembles a kitten can.

“Why should she get to sit here?” Lavender asks, sitting up taller in her seat.

Hermione raises an eyebrow. How curious.

Lavender commands the rest of the Defence Squad’s attention, as if it’s _her_ approval necessary. Ron leans forward in his seat across from her, also waiting for Pansy’s answer.

“This is Pansy Parkinson. My girlfriend,” Hermione says, and she can’t help but smile around those words, how they sit on her tongue. She beams at them, and Lavender’s eyes flash.

“Good,” Lavender says firmly. “You deserve to say that. Announce it. Now, sit. You too, Pansy.”

Hermione sits down next to her and scoots over, leaving an open space for Pansy.

Pansy smiles and sits.

“WELCOME, PANSY PARKINSON!” Ginny crows at the top of her lungs.

Pansy looks alarmed. Luna smiles beatifically.

“You better treat Hermione right, you hear me, Parkinson?” Ron warns.

Lavender: “So, I heard your story from Mione’s point of view, but what about you—”

Harry: “Can you pass the toast, Parkinson?”

“Fifteen points from Gryffindor for excessive volume,” McGonagall says as she walks by.

But, even as she says it, she smiles.

And Hermione can’t stop smiling either.


	52. TUESDAY, 10:21PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hermione is getting ready for bed.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "I like my girls just like I like my honey; sweet  
> A little selfish  
> I like my women like I like my money; green  
> A little jealous  
> 'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck  
> A colorful mess, but I'm funny  
> Oh, I'm a heartbreak vet  
> With a stone-cold neck, yeah, I'm charming"
> 
> -Honey, Kehlani

She’s just trying to oil her hair before she goes to bed.

It’s literally all Hermione is trying to do.

This is not new either. She has been doing it since she was a kid, and the other girls in her dorm know it. They understand her routine by now, and it’s not like Parvati doesn’t also oil her hair. So, she isn’t sure why Parvati _and_ Fay are hovering in the bathroom, throwing what they _think_ are covert stares at her.

Hermione rolls her eyes and bends over, throwing her hair forward and working to tie her hair up in her painstaking pineapple. When it’s done, the curls fall into her eyes and she blows up at them, moving them so that they’re out of her face. Hermione clears her throat loudly, and it just makes Parvati giggle louder and more nervously.

Hermione stomps back into the dorm and frowns when she sees Ginny lounging across her bed, in her pajamas, going through her planner.

“Do you really write down when you’re going to have your period?” Ginny asks.

Hermione glares and snatches her planner. “ _Yes_ , I keep track of my cycle. What is _wrong_ with you?”

Ginny smirks and doesn’t say anything.

“Everyone is _insane_ ,” Hermione declares. She looks over at Lavender. Lavender is standing in the mirror, brushing her curls slowly. “Do you know why Parvati and Fay are laughing at me?”

“Oh, they aren’t,” Lavender says cheerfully. “Parvati! Fay! I told you to just _ask_ her.”

Fay and Parvati tumble out of the bathroom, giggling and shoving one another. Parvati recovers first and she bounces up to Hermione.

“You didn’t come _back_ last night,” Parvati giggles.

Hermione winces, and Ginny hums, sitting up.

“She _didn’t?_ ” Ginny asks.

“ _No,_ ” Fay insists. “You were with _Pan-sy_ , weren’t you?”

She sings Pansy’s name and Hermione bites her bottom lip, even more embarrassed.

“What does it matter?” Hermione mutters.

And then Parvati squeals, “You two are _so_ cute together!”

It takes Hermione a moment to compute her words.

“What?” she breathes.

“Padma, Parvati and I were talking about it,” Fay says. “You two are _so_ cute. A tol and a smol.”

It sounds like _tall and small_ , but...no.

“A what?” Hermione says.

Ginny snorts and grabs her wrist, tugging her down on the bed. “Just let it go, Mione. They want to know about your _gorgeous_ girlfriend. And I’m straight, but even I will admit that, Hermione, your girlfriend is _insanely_ good-looking.”

Hermione can’t help her grin. “I _know_.”

“You two look _so_ good together,” Lavender shouts from the mirror. “Two extremely pretty people. It’s just _so_ unfair.”

Parvati scoots forward and gingerly sits at the foot of Hermione’s bed.

“I should’ve _known_ when she defended you from Malfoy. It was so _obvious_ ,” Parvati says.

So, like, what’s she like? What do you guys talk about?” Fay asks.

Hermione takes a moment to recognize that this is _girl talk_. She was never one for taking part. She doesn’t gossip, or rather, she never had anything to gossip _about_. Certainly, not anything about herself. And now, here is Fay Dunbar, her roommate of six years. Here is Parvati Patil, her roommate of six years that _stood up for her_.

Hermione looks over at Ginny. Ginny nods at her, smiling.

“Um...we talk about a lot of things. She’s really smart. We started talking because we’re in Ancient Runes together. She really likes Muggle music too, and I’m a Muggleborn, so we listen to music together…”

And on and on it goes, into the night.

Hermione never stops smiling.


	53. WEDNESDAY, 5:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is a study date.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Down the subway, you looked my way  
> With your girl gaze, with your girl gaze  
> That was the day everything changed  
> Couldn't stay the same  
> Now it's Tuesday and I'm thinking  
> 'Bout to tuck in, 'bout to tuck in  
> Telling myself that it's cheating  
> But it's something else"
> 
> -Cherry, Rina Sawayama

Pansy hums as she looks over the outline for their project for the umpteenth time. Even while Hermione is _confident_ in her work, she knows that she doesn’t know Pansy’s work as well as her own, and she hopes that she’s intertwined the two well enough for their project to work.

“It’s good. I think it’s _really_ good,” Pansy says. When Hermione lets out a sigh of relief, Pansy grins. “I don’t know why you were so nervous. We’re going to get an O, Princess. You won’t stand for less.”

“I _know,_ but I just want it to be perfect,” Hermione says firmly.

Pansy waves her hand and nods. She doesn’t ever try to convince Hermione to relax when she’s high strung like this. She doesn’t even make fun of her like sometimes Hermione’s friends do. She just smiles through it and takes it as it comes.

“Just...here, I think I’d rearrange this point, because oracle bone script and its similarity to the prophetic nature of Nabataean would serve well,” Pansy says.

Hermione hums, considering it and she nods. She hums as she makes a note in the margins, tapping her chin. She looks up from her work, and Pansy is smiling at her.

“What?”

“So _studious_ ,” Pansy drawls. “It’s sexy.”

Hermione snorts. “I still have Arithmancy work to do, so put a pin in _that_.”

Pansy sighs dramatically and nods.

Hermione turns towards her bag, dragging it onto the table. “I still have other finals to revise for, as do you. I can make you a study schedule if you like.”

“My study is _your_ study schedule, Princess,” Pansy points out.

Hermione pauses as she pulls out her textbooks. “Oh, well...I suppose that’s true.” She continues tugging out all of her Arithmancy books and some of her favorite choice supplementary material when the letter flutters out.

Hermione doesn’t recognize it, much like she hadn’t recognized that last letter from Pansy’s mum.

“Oh, what’s this?” Hermione says as she pulls out the sealed letter. She turns it over, frowning at her last name on the front in the most elegant script. Slowly, she opens it, frowning to herself, and she raises an eyebrow when she sees the post-script.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I am writing to tell you many things, for I feel they won’t be well-communicated in person. We have clashed many times, and as words are your weapons, I believe that they may also be my ally_

Pansy looks at the letter over her shoulder once and then snatches the letter from Hermione’s hands. Hermione jumps.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Hermione demands.

Pansy pulls her wand and hisses, “ _Incendio_.”

The letter catches fire, turning to ash, a grey pile on the tabletop.

“What the fuck is your issue?” Hermione asks.

Pansy’s eyes narrow and she’s breathing hard, her brow furrowed. “That was from Draco. You don’t need to be reading any shit from him.”

Hermione frowns at her, folding her arms. “Well, that wasn’t for _you_ to decide.”

“Well, it could’ve been cursed,” Pansy retorts. She clears her throats, and seems to suddenly realize what she’s done. She gnaws on her bottom lip, suddenly looking nervous. “I’m...I’m sorry. That was...out of line and a complete overreaction, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was,” Hermione snaps, sharply. She hums, looking away, eyes narrowed. “Why did you think it was cursed?”

Pansy’s expression darkens. “Because I _know_ Draco and he’s _always_ been a sore loser.”

Hermione bites her bottom lip. Pansy _was_ out of line, but she’s also realized it almost immediately and apologized. She decides to be the bigger person.

“Oh, and you’re the prize?” she asks with levity.

Pansy snorts. “That’s what he’d say, I suppose. His parents wanted us to get married, you know? Right out of Hogwarts. I hated the concept,” Pansy says quietly. “Thankfully, their opinion has since change.”

“Oh?” Hermione asks.

Pansy nods once. “Yeah.” She doesn’t elaborate. “But, he was still my best friend. But, he’s not anymore. Draco… _Malfoy_ is putting his nose into shit that’s no longer his business.”

Hermione bites her bottom lip and reaches across the table, lacing her fingers with Pansy’s. Pansy looks at her in surprise, eyes wide.

“You don’t have to call him ‘Malfoy’, ya amar,” Hermione says gently. “He was your best friend for a _really_ long time. Since you were kids, even. You can call him by his name.”

Pansy winces. “It’s...too familiar. Makes me think that he’s not all that bad, even if he is.”

Hermione hums to herself, nodding.

“Well...people are complex. He might’ve been terrible to me, but he was good to you,” Hermione reminded her. “What was something Draco did that was good for you?”

Pansy frowns to herself. She looks like she wants to say something and Hermione thinks that it might be about her mysterious illness.

And then, Pansy says, “I’m pansexual. You know what that means, right?

“Sexuality to both genders?” Hermione asks, because she feels like she’s being quizzed, and she knows that she’s failed it. Almost immediately, she wants to correct herself. “Wait, no, that’s not right—”

“Gender is irrelevant to me. I am attracted to a _person_ ,” Pansy says. “My parents know this, but...my dad just thinks that means there’s always a chance that I’ll be with a man. My mom is a bit better about it, but she’s still learning. She’s trying. She knows...how I feel about you, so her writing to you is...a _big_ step.”

“Right,” Hermione says with a nod.

She’s suddenly hit with another rush of love and gratefulness for her parents. She’d expected her parents to reject her. But, they loved her. She’d been lucky.

“Draco has _never_ looked at me strange for it. Ever. He has always known who I am. He has always loved me and been proud of me. He was so supportive,” Pansy says, like it hurts to admit. She shakes her head. “Because of that, I thought I could be with him, because he _saw_ me. It would’ve been easier to just _stick_ with Draco too. And then...then, I met _you_. Well, I saw you.”

Hermione’s gaze softens. “And I saw you.”

“I saw you and you saw me, and _everything_ changed. I could never be satisfied with just _pretending_ to be straight. Because I’m not,” Pansy declares. She presses her hand to Hermione’s jaw, rubbing her thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I feel so deeply for you that I’m done pretending. You make me want to just be _me_.”

And what can Hermione do but lean over the table and kiss Pansy deeply. They lose themselves in kissing for a long time.

Then, Hermione hears a giggle and she pulls back. She looks over and sees two Slytherin first years by the shelves. They’re both girls, pressed close together, watching Hermione and Pansy. Hermione smiles, helplessly and falls back into her seat, and the two girls run off. When Hermione looks back at Pansy, Pansy looks soft.

“I want to take you on a date on Friday,” Pansy says quietly.

Hermione nods. “Okay.”

She looks forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Look, it's only a LITTLE BIT late :)
> 
> Also, as for the definition of pansexual, I'm just writing what I always say about my own sexuality! This is unique to my experience and everyone feels it a bit differently.


	54. FRIDAY, 6:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which pansy and hermione go on a date.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "I don't do well under pressure  
> I don't know it all  
> I wish I had all the answers  
> Fix it all myself (Oh)  
> I feel overwhelmed"
> 
> \- Overwhelmed, Chloe x Halle

In the beginning, Hermione has to remind herself that it’s okay to hold Pansy’s hand now.

She’s holding it from the moment they leave the gates, but sometimes, Hermione thinks that she has to pull away and hide it. Pansy always seems to know exactly when she thinks that way, because her hand always tightens in Hermione’s and she’ll tug Hermione in and say something funny that will make Hermione laugh and think about something else.

“Now, will you finally tell me what it is that you have _planned_?” Hermione asks.

Pansy hums. “ _Well_ , at first, I was thinking a stop at Scrivenshaft’s, then Tomes & Scrolls, and then maybe a picnic by the Shrieking Shack,” Pansy says slowly.

Hermione’s lips curl into a smile.

“Those are all my favorite shops.”

“Oh, are they?” Pansy says loftily.

Hermione laughs, staring up at her and she leans up, pressing a soft kiss to Pansy’s lips, right there in the middle of the road. She doesn’t care who sees. Pansy laughs against her lips, and suddenly, Hermione feels one of her curls flipping on her other side.

Hermione steps back and laughs when she sees Pansy’s wand pointed at her, teasing her.

It’s a lovely date.

Hermione knew it would be. She knows what she said before—that she and Pansy had nothing in common—but they do. While Pansy isn’t _as_ excited about books as Hermione, she is intrigued by the vast amount of sheet music that Scrolls & Tomes has, and the miniscule record collection that they’re selling. Pansy doesn’t really care for the difference between Azul Marino Ink nad Everlasting Ink, but she does buy stationary for her mother that she thinks she would enjoy.

And all the while, as Hermione plucks books off the shelves and chooses between inks and notebooks, as she considers parchment thickness, Pansy is right there, her wand holding all of Hermione’s books aloft, or the basket in the crook of her arm.

They laugh a lot. Hermione loves that she laughs with Pansy, more than she’s ever laughed with anyone in her life. She feels soft, and she feels okay with showing that to the world. She barely notices the looks.

“Picnic now?” Pansy asks after Hermione finishes her purchases. Hermione nods and links arms with her.

If Hermione looks up from this angle, she can see Hogwarts Castle, looming and just as beautiful as the first night she saw it.

“You know...I prefer Hogwarts in winter,” Hermione says suddenly. “Winter is my favorite season.”

“Why?” Pansy asks. “I’ve always preferred spring. Summer. The warm months.”

Hermione considers her answer carefully.

“I think...everything looks cleaner and fresher during winter. Yeah, the plant life is dead, but everything is _beautiful_. And I prefer to think of it as...hibernation,” Hermione says as they reach the grounds outside of the Shrieking Shack. She looks around, frowning. “The picnic?”

Pansy grins and waves her wand, Conjuring a big plush blanket which settles to the ground gently. With another wave of her wand, gold sparks showers over the blanket and there’s a brief moment where nothing happened, and then, with a pop a basket _cracks_ into existence, the tell tale sign of elf magic.

“The house elves helped me out when I told them I was going on a date with you. Well, one of them. He’s an odd one—”

“Dobby?” Hermione asks with a laugh.

Pansy’s eyes widen. “That was _Dobby_? Draco’s old elf?” she gasps. “Merlin, I remember when Lucius lost it— _him_ —to Harry, but he ended up at Hogwarts?”

Hermione grins, nodding. “Yeah, he has a fair wage and everything!”

“Well, if that isn’t the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. We have elves too, but we don’t pay them,” Pansy murmurs to herself. She hums, like she’s considering it. “I wonder if my parents will pay our elves a wage if I ask.”

Hermione’s heart clenches.

“I love you,” she gasps, wrapping her arms around Pansy and hugging her harder.

Pansy laughs, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

“Well, I can do you one more. Close your eyes.”

Hermione hums, shutting her eyes as Pansy takes a step back from her. “I feel quite spoiled, Pansy. You really don’t have to do all of this,” she says as she fights the urge to open her eyes.

“Shh, I’m taking you on a date. You can’t do something amazing for me when you take _me_ on a date.”

“I’ll take on the best date,” Hermione says earnestly. “I’ve already brainstormed ideas and done the research. Do you prefer cassettes or records?”

“Both have a different sound. It depends on the genre and…” Pansy trails off. Hermione can hear the smile in his voice. “Okay, Princess, open your eyes.”

And Pansy does.

Hermione gasps as she looks up, watching the snow fluttering down in springtime and she twists, laughing. She throws her arms open and tilts her face up. The snow falls on her eyelashes, on her nose, and Hermione welcomes the brisk chill along with the strange balminess of the late Friday evening. Hermione looks at Pansy and pauses.

Pansy looks _strange_.

There’s a strain to her face, even as she smiles. She looks _exhausted_ and she’s trying her best not to breathe very hard. Hermione takes a step closer to her, frowning.

“Pansy, what’s wrong?” she asks.

Pansy hums. “You’re so beautiful,” she says gently, and then, she collapses, her strings cut, limbs flopping like an old puppet.

Hermione feels her entire life happen in the span of a moment. Everything makes sense and everything doesn’t.

_(1. Pansy is joking around._

_2\. Pansy is._

_3\. Pansy is.)_

“Pansy?” Hermione whispers, taking a shaky step forward.

Pansy doesn’t move on the ground.

“ _PANSY!”_ Hermione falls to her knees, dragging Pansy in her arms and she’s shaking and she’s looking around, and she can see students that she can’t quite remember—neither their faces or their names—rushing over to help. “ _PANSY, WAKE UP!”_

_“MOVE!”_

The crowd that begins to form around them scatters with the new voice, and Hermione looks up as Draco Malfoy runs over, skidding to a stop in front of them. He looks down at Pansy in horror and then shoots red sparks up into the air, presumably to alert one of the professors at the Hogwarts gate. He turns to the nearest Slytherin—Bulstrode.

“Go get Professor Snape,” he instructs briskly.

_(Later Hermione will go through this moment in her mind, go through every one of Malfoy’s decisions, which she will list out, and wonder why she didn’t do a single one)_

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Malfoy casts and then Pansy is floating out of Hermione’s lap, out of her arms, into the air and towards Malfoy. Hermione stretches out a hand and Malfoy glares at her. “Don’t _touch_ her.”

“I didn’t—” Hermione begins.

“You _pushed_ her! A fucking weather spell. And she’s been doing magic all day, I bet, huh. Why would you let her do magic?” Malfoy demands.

Hermione’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, maybe because she’s a _witch_ ,” Hermione hisses, unable to help herself because she is worried and scared, and there is something _wrong_ with Pansy. “And I’m not her _keeper_. I can’t control her—”

“She has an illness!” Malfoy snarls. He stalks towards her and suddenly, Hermione realizes how much taller than her he is.

“Hey! Leave her alone!”

Hermione turns as Harry and Ron run forward. Ron falters as his feet crunch through snow, but Harry barrels forward, getting between Malfoy and Hermione, his wand pulled.

“What are you shouting at her for?” Harry snarls.

“Harry…” Ron whispers, eyes wide as he realizes that it’s Pansy floating behind Malfoy’s still form.

Before Malfoy can explain, Bulstrode returns, Professor Snape on her heels along with Madame Pomfrey. Madame Pomfrey is already barking orders and Snape disperses the crowd.

Hermione can’t _think_.

She catches words.

_(1. ...students leave…_

  1. _She’s exhausted…_
  2. _St. Mungo’s—)_



“St. Mungo’s?” Hermione asks, voice cracking.

Madame Pomfrey spares her a look—one that is very sad—and then she’s pushing Pansy into Snape’s arms just for Snape to Disapparate on the spot.

Pansy is there for one second, and then, gone in the next. Hermione lets out a haggard sob and Harry’s arms come around, holding her just as her knees buckle.

“What’s _wrong_ with her?” Hermione gasps.

Malfoy stares at her, grimly. “She has a magical malediction that eats away at her magic faster than she can generate it,” he says coldly, accusatory, like it’s all her fault. Hermione can count all the many times Pansy's used magic on this date, if just a little bit—teasing Hermione, opening doors, carrying Hermione’s books, Conjuring hte blanket, the _weather_ spell—and she’s too frazzled to make a list, there’s no _logic_ to this and then Malfoy says, “If she isn’t careful about the amount of magic she uses at any given time, she could render herself a Squib.”

And Hermione shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: A/N: Just wanted to say that Pansy will be okay. I hope her illness also makes sense. If you go back, I don't think you'll see Pansy use magic AT ALL, and I made that very intentional. I know in general they don't use that much magic, which I believe is pretty in line with the books where there wasn't much reason to just use mundane magic all the time, but Pansy NEVER uses magic, and I wanted that to be a point. It also is the reason that Draco was immediately worried when she threatened him. He wasn't scared OF her, he was scared FOR her.
> 
> Also, are you all getting update emails about this fic? I think AO3 emails are off for me, but I'm not sure if they're off for anyone else!


	55. SATURDAY, 3:45PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which pansy has Vanished.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "My head was warm  
> My skin was soaked  
> I called your name 'til the fever broke
> 
> When I awoke  
> The moon still hung  
> The night so black that the darkness hummed"
> 
> -In the Woods Somewhere, Hozier

The Transfiguration OWL is structured very carefully. There is a practical and a theoretical portion, much like the other OWLs. However, the Transfiguration theoretical exam always has an essay portion.

Hermione had been given an option—to grade the theoretical exam or the essays. Hermione remembers getting a perfect score on the theoretical essay, though she’d missed three questions on the exam portion. So, she chooses to do the essays, because she thought it would bring some sort of joy to her.

It does not.

Hermione doesn’t feel much of anything.

This particular essay is on Vanishment. As one of the only students that was able to accomplish the vanishment of a kitten, Hermione thinks she’s uniquely positioned to grade this essay. It isn’t very well structured, but it gets down the basic idea. Everyone has gotten down the basic idea though she doesn’t think a single one will ever end up in Transfiguration Today.

“Miss Granger...Miss Granger.”

Hermione stares blankly at the essay in front of her. The words don’t compute.

“Professor?” Hermione asks. She is careful not to let anything change the inflection of her voice. She is careful not to less her voice crack. She knows better. She takes a deep breath, and very carefully looks Professor McGonagall in the eye.

Her stomach twinges, because that look in Professor McGonagall’s makes her  _ nauseous _ .

“I think you have done quite enough for today, don’t you?” Professor McGonagall asks.

“No, I haven’t finished assisting you with these essays, Professor. I still have quite a few to go,” Hermione says. That is, twenty-two essays, to be exact. She hadn’t even gotten through a third of the fifth years’ work. She’d wanted to read Luna’s.

“I was quite capable of grading essays before you, Miss Granger. I’m sure that I’ll manage,” McGonagall says.

“Professor—” Hermione starts, and the desperation tears at her voice.

“Hermione, please,” McGonagall says.

Hermione’s heart buckles.

That  _ look _ . It’s not pity, but the warmest of empathies, and somehow, that makes it all so much worse. Hermione looks away and nods, stoppering her inkwell and setting her quill to the side. She roughly packs her bag and bites her bottom lip.

“Professor—” she starts.

“One more detention before the end of the year, Miss Granger. I will see you then,” Professor McGonagall says, firmly, not brooking any argument. She waits for Hermione to nod before she goes soft again and says, gently, “Go to your friends. Let them comfort you. You cannot do this alone. You cannot... _ wait  _ alone.”

“Okay, Professor,” Hermione says emptily.

And McGonagall stares at her with sadness, like she doesn’t think Hermione will take her advice. Hermione doesn’t think she will either.

She leaves alone and makes her way to the library, ignoring the weight of their stares and their pity. Hermione barely hears their words, barely hears the gossip as it rasps over her skin. When Hermione finally gets to the library, she feels  _ alone _ for the first time in her life. She feels alone in this pit of knowledge and knows that Pansy has carved a space for herself, beside her, and  _ Pansy _ —

Hermione draws herself together, refusing to break down.

She is not  _ weak. _

Hermione is not  _ here  _ to be weak.

She is here to work.

And so, she does.

She  _ works. _

Hermione swallows hard as she stares at the books. She hadn’t even noticed what she was doing, moving on autopilot. There are dozens of texts there, all in various piles, all spread across the table. She brushes her fingers over the covers, cataloguing them in her mind.

_ (Books That Hermione Pulled: _

  1. _Healing, A Most Magick Arte_
  2. _Blood Malediction and You_
  3. _The Encyclopedia of Magical Maladies_
  4. _What to Expect When You’re Expecting A Malediction_



_And a Host of Others...)_

There are so many texts, books and scrolls and spare pieces of parchment. Hermione won’t be able to get through all of them today, even if she didn’t have a whole host of other assignments to get done. Strangely enough, she can’t quite remember those assignment even when she’d made a list of them just last Thursday.

Nothing seems as  _ important  _ as this.

In the numbness, this was all that felt important.

Hermione pulls out a spiral notebook with lined paper. She pulls out her quill and ink. She turns open the first book. And she begins to read.

This is what she knows. This is all she knows how to do. She can research and she can takes notes, and she can’t do anything fucking  _ productive _ . Hermione swallows hard, forcing back the knot in her throat, the burning at her eyes. She focuses on  _ this _ .

This one thing she knows how to do.

She is a problem solver.

She can fix this. She can fix this. She can—

“Hermione.”

Hermione jerks in her seat, splattering ink across the table.

She doesn’t move to clean it up.

Neither does the Defence Squad.

Harry strides forward, without hesitation and he sits to her left, taking one of her hands in his, squeezing tightly. He looks at her and gives her a tiny smile.

“Why didn’t you come find us?” Harry asks softly.

“I...I didn’t…” Hermione stammers.

Harry laughs gently. “Don’t go somewhere we can’t follow, Mione,” he says gently and he leans forward to press a kiss to her temple and then he turns towards the books, humming. “Well, there’s a lot of reading here.”

“I think we can divide it evenly,” Ron says firmly as he takes the seat on Hermione’s other side. Hermione turns to look at him, wide-eyed, but he’s barely paying her any mind. “Get over here, you lot. We can get a lot of this done if we work from now until dinner.”

Hermione feels a pair of slim arms wrap around her shoulders and a kiss to the top of her head and she looks up and sees  _ Lavender _ , smiling.

“Well, hello,” Lavender says quietly. “We brought you lunch too. We know you’re sad, but that doesn’t mean you get to stop eating.” Lavender pulls her wand and frowns at the ink spill. “ _ Evanesco _ .”

The mess Vanishes.

Hermione lets out a messy laugh.

“What?” Ginny asks, settling across from her with Luna.

“I...I was reading Transfiguration essays about Vanishing today,” Hermione says, and for some reason,  _ that’s  _ when she begins to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks and ugly sobs ripping free from her chest.

Pansy is  _ gone _ . Vanished.

And Hermione can’t do  _ anything  _ to help her.

Harry squeezes harder, holding on and Ron holds her shoulder as Lavender hugs her tight.

And they let her cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, this is late. BUT, I have a good reason! I am trying to bang out the rest of this story in its entirety, because we only have TWO more weeks of this (this week and the next) and I am wrapping up ALL of the storylines from HEX, which will be a really fun time to revisit everyone, I think!
> 
> Anyway, we have on more chapter today, a MONDAY chapter, and then everything will be real time again!


	56. MONDAY, 8:09AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, there is breakfast.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "A woman's work  
> A woman's prerogative  
> A woman's time to embrace  
> She must put herself first  
> A woman's touch, a sacred geometry  
> I know where you start, where you end  
> How to please, how to curse"
> 
> -mary magdalene, fka twigs

“Pork is probably the finest meat,” Ron declares over breakfast as he dives into a plate of bacon.

“I disagree. Beef is superior,” Ginny retorts. “What do you thin, Lavender?”

Lavender hums as she carefully considers the question. “I _do_ really like ham.”

“Ha!” Ron says triumphantly.

Ginny snorts. “She’s only saying that because she— _ow_!” Ginny yelps, glaring at Lavender next to her.

Lavender pretends that she doesn’t see Ginny, primly making her plate with one hand.

“How are you doing this morning?” Harry asks Hermione quietly. He turns towards her so that he doesn’t bring too much attention to her, but it was already too late for that.

Some students still watch her. Only a few have been brave enough to ask after Pansy, but they’d been stopped the first time by Harry and the second time, Bulstrode and Greengrass had been passing through and put the fear of Allah in them.

“Better,” Hermione says, and she finds that she isn’t lying. She isn’t good, she doesn’t think she will be until she sees Pansy with her own eyes, but she _does_ feel better. “And you, habibi?”

Harry hums. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t spoken to Tom yet,” Hermione reminds him.

Harry’s face falls. “Ah. Right. I think we’re still broken up.”

“Do you?” Hermione retorts, carefully looking over at the Slytherin table. The Death Eaters are all there with the exception of Tom and Bellatrix. She purses her lips and Harry follows her gaze.

“Do you think he’s fucking her?” Harry asks suddenly. He swallows hard, turning ashen. “Please, don’t answer that.”

“I _will_ answer you,” Hermione declares. “No, I don’t think he is. I think he loves you. As much as Tom Riddle could love anyone.”

Harry nodded, looking down at the table. “I...next week is the last week of school. I need to talk to him before he makes a decision,” Harry says quietly.

Hermione nods because Harry _knows_ what he needs to do. She has no doubt that he will. Harry’s the bravest person that she knows. She also knows that he’s _very_ stubborn.

“Have you heard anything about Pansy yet?” Ginny asks.

Hermione feels like she’s just been hit with some kind of emotional whiplash. Suddenly, everything hurts all over.

“Um...not yet,” Hermione says quietly.

“Have you written to her mother? Do you think she’d tell you anything?” Ron asks. Hermione looks at him in surprise and Ron shrugs. “‘I mean she _did_ write you before, right?”

“Yes...I...maybe. But, Pansy didn’t...she didn’t _tell_ me. For a reason. Maybe she didn’t want me to know,” Hermione whispers, and it hurts to think that Pansy didn’t want her to know that about her. That _very_ specific but large part of her life.

“Maybe she was scared,” Ginny suggests. “She might end up a Squib if she’s not careful. Maybe she didn’t want you to think of her differently. Or think her weak.”

Hermione frowns. “Why would I think that? I’m a Muggleborn.”

“Well, she’s a pureblood,” Ginny says. “She doesn’t _know_ that you wouldn’t think differently. She’s surrounded by witches and wizards that prove otherwise every day.”

And Hermione stills, eyes wide at the thought that Pansy thinks she might look down on her or think differently of her at all. Maybe Hermione _does_ think of Pansy differently, but only in that Pansy is so strong and amazing and _brave_.

Before Hermione can say that, Luna says, “My mother had a blood malediction.”

Hermione stops breathing, turning to stare at Luna in horror, because Luna’s mum is _dead_. Luna’s mum isn’t alive, and if that’s what’s going to happen to—

“Oh,” Luna says when she notices that range of horror that everyone stares at her with. “Ha, that’s not how she _died_. Silly. She died after she experimented with magic. My mother’s blood malediction was a bit of the opposite of Pansy’s. She had _too_ much magic. Drew it in from everything around her, so she was constantly overpowered.”

“So...she died _almost_ because of her blood malediction,” Ginny says gently.

“This isn’t making me _feel_ better,” Hermione snaps.

Luna doesn’t quite react, but there’s something there, in her eyes, that makes Hermione rear back. Luna reaches across the table and pats Hermione’s cheek.

“The difference between my mother and Pansy is that Pansy is _managing_ her illness. She’s sick and she’s managing it. My mother pretended that it didn’t exist, but it did. It was real, just as real as an Aquavirius Maggot,” Luna explains. She sighs to herself. “That’s all you can do, Mione. You can’t Heal her. This is a lifelong struggle. Pansy will always be sick. She’ll also need you.”

“Me?” Hermione whispers.

She’s not sure about that.

“Yes, you,” Luna says firmly.

“But, Malfoy said—”

“Are you really going to listen to _Malfoy_?” Ron interrupts, ignoring Hermione’s glare. “He’s obviously just jealous and he’s been a right prick to you from the beginning.”

Hermione looks at everyone else, but they’re all nodding to Ron’s words. Hermione doesn’t know how to make them _understand_ that while Malfoy hates her, he adores Pansy. He loves her because they always had each other, and now, suddenly, Malfoy doesn’t have her anymore, because she’s _Hermione’s_. Even still, she can see part of where they might be right.

“So, when Pansy gets back, what are you going to do?” Lavender asks as she cuts in her ham, laying it carefully on her open self-constructed breakfast sandwich.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asks.

“Well, if she’s ill, and now you know about it, you’re going to have to be there for her. Be strong when she can’t be, help her when she asks, that kind of thing. Can you do that?” Lavender returns.

Lavender doesn’t sound like she has any doubt that Hermione could do all of those things. Lavender thinks that Hermione can do all of these things right, that she can be brave for Pansy, and all that she deserves. Hermione wants to be all that Pansy deserves.

And yet, suddenly, Hermione isn’t so sure herself.


	57. THURSDAY, 8:14PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, pansy returns.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> ""I don't ever wanna leave  
> I'll watch you sleep  
> And listen to you breathe  
> I don't ever wanna leave  
> I'll watch you sleep  
> I'll watch you sleep"
> 
> -watch you sleep. , girl in red

The Defence Squad tries their hardest to make everything seem normal. They all sit together by the fire, after dinner, gossiping and laughing with one another. Harry and Ron are locked in a wizard’s chess match with Luna whispering over Harry’s shoulder and Lavender giggling at Ron’s distracted quips. Ginny and Hermione are sitting together by the fire. Ginny bends her head forward.

“I know I have my O.W.L.’s next week, but I can’t even think about them,” Ginny explains. “Not with Sunday on my mind.”

“You’ll be brilliant, Ginny,” Hermione insists. “The team won their last Quidditch match. By Sunday, you’ll have officially won the Quidditch Cup.”

Hermione tries to pretend everything’s normal too. This is her way; she is helping Ginny solve a problem. She has always functioned best this way.

“Winning a Quidditch Cup probably seems like nothing to Gwenog Jones,” Ginny points out.

“You’re going to be incredible, Ginny,” Luna tosses over her shoulder.

Hermione nods her agreement and Harry glances over his shoulder.

“Honestly, Ginny, there’s a reason she asked to fly with you in a private practice,” Harry says with a wide grin. He doesn’t notice as Lavender reaches across the board, switching his knight and rook until the rook shrieks its discontent. Harry turns back, glaring. “ _Cheat_.”

Lavender smirks.

“Gin, you’ll be incredible. If you want, we can come to support you,” Ron starts.

Ginny shakes her head. “No...just Blaise. You’ll make me nervous.”

Ron shrugs, though he can’t help but toss out a, “What does Zabini have that _we_ don’t?”

“Well, a nicely shaped—”

“Hermione!”

Hermione looks up from the fire, eyes wide, as Parvati rushes into the common room, breathing hard. Lavender pulls back from where she’s hanging over Ron’s shoulders, standing tall.

“Parvati, what’s wrong?” Lavender demands.

Parvati bends over to catch her breath, grabbing onto Lavender’s bicep to steady herself. Finally, Parvati straightens.

“I...I just saw a bunch of Healers leaving through the Entrance Hall. They mentioned Parkinson. I think she’s back in the Hospital Wing,” Parvati confesses.

Hermione’s entire world stops.

Ron and Harry abandon their game entirely now, turning to watch Hermione’s reaction.

“I...thank you, Parvati,” Hermione says quietly, turning back to stare into the fire.

Lavender squawks. “You’re not...aren’t you going to go to her?”

“I’m not...sure if I’m what she needs right now,” Hermione says softly. “She didn’t tell me for a reason, right?”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “That’s not _your_ decision.”

“What?”

“She’s the girl you love, and you’re the girl _she_ loves,” Lavender interjects, sharply. “You don’t get to decide if you’re what she needs. You wait until she tells you to go away, and she hasn’t said anything of the sort, has she?”

Hermione swallows hard.

She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her cheek on her knees, looking into the fire.

Hermione has always made lists and solved problems.

And Pansy—Pansy wasn’t a problem to be solved.

“She’s not a problem to be solved,” Hermione whispers to herself.

“No. She’s not,” Luna says solemnly.

Hermione clears her throat and gets to her knees, pulling her wand. “ _Tempus_.” She falters. “It’s nearly curfew. You should be getting back, Lu.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Ginny declares.

Ron’s brow furrows. “Hey, Harry, what if you give her the...you know,” he says pointedly.

Hermione and Harry understand him just seconds later.

“Okay, I yield,” Harry says, tipping his king over. He jumps to his feet and reaches for both Ron and Hermione, grabbing them by their wrists. “We’ll be back!”

And then, Hermione is being dragged up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. She gasps when Ron shuts the door and Harry rushes to his trunk, throwing it open. Hermione looks over Harry’s shoulder and purses her lips.

“You should be better organized, Harry,” she says sternly.

Harry scoffs. “You shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you, _Hermione_ ,” he says in the same tone and then he falls back on his haunches as he draws out the old folded parchment that she recognizes as the Marauder’s Map and the silvery cloak that Harry rarely breaks out. “The Marauder’s Map and the Invisibility Cloak.”

Hermione takes the Invisibility Cloak reverently.

It’s not often that it’s used, too valuable. It’s also not quite as useful anymore, not now that they’re more than a trio and each taller than a meter and a half—with the exception of Luna and Ginny who are just _barely_ over that. _Hermione_ is taller than them, and only just barely.

“ _I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good_ ,” Hermione promises and she watches the inkblot spread, the Marauders welcoming her. Hermione opens the map, and sees so many names, looks over all of them until she sees the one that matters.

Pansy Parkinson is all alone in the Hospital Wing.

“Be brave, Hermione,” Ron says.

Hermione looks up, wide-eyed. “What?”

“You’re the bravest person I know,” Ron says firmly. “And you’re too smart to be so stupid about this. _Go_.”

Harry nods his agreement and Hermione stands to her feet, wrapping the Cloak around her shoulders. She hesitates before tugging the hood over her head.

“Thanks,” she breathes.

“Always,” Harry says back.

And then, Hermione disappears. She moves quickly, holding the Marauder’s Map to her chest as she moves downstairs. No one pays attention to her paper-whisper steps, not when Harry and Ron are loud as they thunder behind her. She barely pays mind to Lavender asking after her.

Instead, she slips out of the Common Room just as a student steps back in and then, she moves through Hogwarts’ corridors, silently.

Hermione’s had a lot of practice at it, being a prefect for two years. She knows the shortcuts, the hideaways, and she has to remind herself not to check for students there. She’s not a prefect, not anymore.

When Hermione gets to the Hospital Wing, she only hesitates for a moment. She doesn’t quite open the door.

_(Reasons To Open the Door:_

  1. _You love her. You’ll always love her.)_



She opens the door

Hermione stills.

There she is, long and thin. Hermione can make out the shadows of her underneath the thin blanket wrapped around her body, curling over her shoulders. Her back is to the door and she’s breathing steadily. Hermione can’t see her face, but she imagines that it’s as lovely as ever.

Hermione slips into the Hospital Wing and shuts the door behind her as quietly as possible, and lets the Invisibility Cloak fall from her. She folds it over the crook of her arm and slowly approaches Pansy. She stops right there at her bedside and touches her face, gently.

Pansy turns towards her, like she senses her there. Hermione runs her fingers over the porcelain of her cheek. Hermione admires the way Pansy’s lashes fan out against her skin, fluttering, and slowly her eyes open. She looks exhausted, and then, she seems to recognize the shape of Hermione’s body. Her eyes widen and she inhales sharply.

“Ya amar,” Hermione whispers. _My moon_.

Pansy’s breath catches again, and she reaches out with a trembling hand. Her fingers wrap around Hermione’s wrist, and they feel warm there. Hermione slides into the bed, lays down so that they’re facing each other, so that Hermione is the barrier between Pansy and the door.

“Hermione,” Pansy whispers.

“I’m here,” Hermione whispers back, pressing closer until they’re sharing a pillow. She rubs her nose against Pansy’s and Pansy rubs back.

She doesn’t let go of Hermione’s wrist.

When Hermione closes her eyes, she doesn’t go right to sleep.

She drifts, sometimes opening her eyes, and Pansy is there to meet her gaze. Sometimes, Pansy isn’t, instead caught deep in sleep. Hermione has to look at her when she’s sleeping, has to remind herself that Pansy is right there and that Pansy isn’t going anywhere.

Once, when she’s awake, near daybreak, she thinks she sees a boy.

He is a tall boy with a sharp chin and a sharp nose. Everything about him is jagged edges and pale, silvery hair, except for the softness of his mouth. He stands there, watching them sleep. Watching _Pansy_ sleep.

The boy lays a letter on the side table.

In the next moment, Hermione is lost to sleep again.


	58. FRIDAY, 7:23AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, we take the world by storm, minute by minute.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "I don’t want to lose that feeling  
> Sleeping in your arms, still dreaming  
> And if I, if I froze time  
> Could you forever, could you forever be mine? Be mine  
> And if I, if I froze time  
> Could you forever, forever be mine? Be my baby"
> 
> -Still Dreaming, Raveena

_Dear Granger,_

_I cannot pretend that I like you. I do not. You are arrogant, a know-it-all, and better than me in every way. You delight in being the best, in how easy it comes to you, and it enrages me. I cannot pretend that I like you. In fact, I cannot stand you._

_But._

_But._

_My Pansy, my best friend, is in love with you. I am not sure if she’s told you, yet, and perhaps I shouldn’t be the one to inform you. And yet, I am. Pansy is in love with you, and she is_ frightfully _ill. It started when we were children, encroaching on our lives, little by little. And I feared that she would be consumed by it. That she would leave me alone in the world. And that is selfish, I know. Oh, I know what I am, Hermione Granger._

 _And I know what you are too. You are what she would leave me for, and I hate you for it. I_ hate _you, Granger._

_But, how I love Pansy. My best friend._

_There is no magic solution. There is no equation. No potion. You cannot solve her. But, you can help her._

_First, be patient. You won’t understand everything on the first go. You won’t get it right at first. You will eventually. Second, be there. When she snaps, call her out. She will pretend that she does not ache, but she does. When she aches—when she refuses to cry—hold her hand. Let her tell you her limits—I struggled with this. I feel that you won’t. Sometimes, she will get so extraordinarily angry, you won’t know what to do. Sometimes, she will be so overwhelmingly depressed, you won’t know what to say._

_But when everything seems hopeless, take it one day at a time. And if one day is too much, just take one hour at a time. And if one hour is too much, just take one minute at a time. [1]_

_One minute._

_With my utmost sincerity,_

_Draco L. Malfoy_

* * *

Hermione takes a deep breath and sets the letter to the side. She sits up in the bed and looks down at the dark hair resting on her thigh. Hermione smiles to herself gently, combing her hair through the silky strands, massaging at Pansy’s tender scalp. Pansy makes a snuffling sound, pressing her face deeper into Hermione’s thigh.

“Miss Parkinson—” Madame Pomfrey starts, her voice soft, and then she pauses when she finally comes around the partition and sees Hermione there. Her gaze sharpens. “Miss Granger, I’m not sure what you’re doing here, but it is _before_ visiting hours.”

“I-I know,” Hermione stammers. She shifts up, stuffing the Invisibility Cloak farther behind her.

Madame Pomfrey squares her shoulders. “I’m going to ask you to _leave_ —”

“Please, don’t, Madame Pomfrey.” Hermione startles at Pansy’s hoarse voice. She looks down and sees Pansy, eyes wide for someone that’s just woken up. “I haven’t seen my girlfriend since I passed out on our date from magical exhaustion, which was all my fault because I was trying to make it the best date ever. Can she stay? Please?”

Madame Pomfrey softens and lets out a long sigh as she regards Hermione and Pansy. And then, she graciously nods. “But, you _will_ leave in forty-five minutes, Miss Granger. You’ll need breakfast,” Madame Pomfrey says firmly.

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione says.

Madame Pomfrey allows them a tiny smile before she goes back into her study.

Pansy tilts her head up, giving a half-smile. “Good morning,” she whispers.

“Morning, love,” Hermione whispers as she slides down in the bed until she’s lying face to face with Pansy. She leans forward, pressing a kiss to Pansy’s sleep sour mouth. When she pulls back, Pansy looks almost sad.

“I’m sorry,” Pansy whispers.

“Don’t...don’t apologize,” Hermione whispers back. “I know that you have a malediction. A blood curse. I know you might lose magic. I still love you.”

Pansy stares at her for a long moment and she smiles slowly. “You know...I...I _knew_ that, but I just—”

“Needed to hear it?” Hermione suggests.

Pansy nods. “I’m just...so tired of having to rely on others. I’m so tired of having to explain myself and my illness to people, let alone the people I love. I didn’t want to hear it from you. How I’m weak. How I have to be _careful_ . How I don’t know how to _handle_ myself.”

Hermione thinks about Malfoy’s letter and swallows hard.

“You know...I got into Ancient Runes because it’s a way to do powerful magic without actively having to do it myself. It’s...useful. Not for the practical things, but I can manage most of the practical things if I take it easy,” Pansy says, and somehow, Hermione’s not even sure if she’s talking to Hermione or herself. “I wanted to...cure myself too. One day. They told me that it’ll never be cured. Definitively. This weekend. And I’m just...tired, Hermione.”

Hermione sighs and rubs her nose against Pansy’s.

“I know, love,” Hermione whispers.

Pansy hums to herself, closing her eyes. “And I don’t want you to think that I need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione insists gently. “But, what if I want to be there with you.”

“What if...in the future, you’re just done with me? I’ll make you sad,” Pansy says.

Hermione frowns at her. “You don’t know _what’s_ going to happen. You’re not a Seer,” Hermione snaps and Pansy looks at her in surprise. Hermione frowns and keeps going. “Let’s play a game. It’s called: Hermione and Pansy, minute by minute. The only thing we need to worry about is the next minute.”

Pansy swallows and nods. “Okay...okay…”

“This minute, I’ll kiss you,” Hermione whispers and she presses her lips to Pansy’s and kisses her, long and slow, sighing against her mouth, holding her, and knowing that this is where she wants to be. When they pull apart, Hemione isn’t sure how much time has passed, a minute or an eternity.

“Next minute,” Pansy says, “I kiss you.”

And Hermione can agree to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Skam Season 3, Episode 10
> 
> \---
> 
> A/N: Minute by minute, that's how we take life.


	59. SUNDAY, 10:45AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, Ginny Weasley is your ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Can't stay at home, can't stay at school.  
> Old folks say 'You poor little fool'.  
> Down the streets I'm the girl next door.  
> I'm the fox you've been waiting for.
> 
> Hello, daddy. Hello, mom."
> 
> -Cherry Bomb, The Runaways

One. Two. Three.

Ginny Weasley lets out a rush of air and stares at the light at the end of the long tunnel leading from the Gryffindor girls’ locker room. She narrows her eyes, tightens her leather gloved hand around her broom and then she takes off at a _run_ , the long rope of hair flagging behind her like a flag.

She mounts her broom at the end and kicks off flying.

Ginny knows it’s stupid, nearly pitching forward off her broom, but she can’t bring herself to care when she’s blasting through the air on her borrowed _Firebolt_. She thanks Harry again in her head.

Her thighs tighten around the broomstick as she rises in the air of the Hogwarts’ Quidditch pitch a newly minted Quidditch Cup winner. She flies higher and higher, shooting into the sky with a boom, and when she gets to her destination, she looks through the air.

Gwenog Jones grins back at her, baring her teeth.

“Ready to fly, kid?” Gwenog asks.

“Ready whenever you are, old lady!” Ginny shoots back.

Gwenog throws back her head and laughs. She makes a signal to Madame Hooch on the ground and then looks back at Ginny.

“Well go easy on this old lady. I’m not a Seeker by trade,” Gwenog retorts.

Ginny snorts and then she keeps her eyes on the ground. She watches as Madam Hooch lifts her hand and then releases the Snitch.

Ginny dives, faster than she expects and she has to pull out of it just as quickly. Gwenog takes advantage of Ginny’s need to adjust and speeds around her, her laughter trailing in the air behind her. Ginny grins and chases after her.

Ginny feels at home in the air. There is nowhere she belongs more. She breathes easier, off the ground, and it’s this feeling that keeps her tethered. The way the wind cuts at her cheeks, the way her eyes waters. She’s a comet, going off, and she knows that Gwenog Jones sees it, sees _her_. She knows the world sees her.

She spots the Snitch first and she goes off for it, quickly adjusting to the basic speed of the Firebolt. Gwenog is on her tail and then swoops below and then up, distracting Ginny long enough that she loses sight of the Snitch.

“Come on, kid. Strategy! You can’t just go off for it!” Gwenog chastises.

Ginny frowns and nods, internalizing the advice.

This is how their Seeker’s Match goes. It’s Ginny trying her best to evade and distract and strategize against Gwenog Jones, the Captain and Beater of the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny tries valiantly, and she nearly succeeds multiple times.

She isn’t surprised when, inevitably, she fails.

She isn’t as upset about it as she thought she would be either.

Gwenog spirals out from under her, mid-sentence, and snatches at the Snitch what had been flying right by Ginny’s ear. Gwenog snatches it and presses it to her chest and let out a great big sigh.

“THANK MERLIN!” she calls.

Ginny frowns. “What?”

But, Gwenog is already aiming for the ground.

“Woo,” Gwenog howls as they land in the sandpit. She slides right off of her broom and falls on her back into the sand, gasping to herself. Her hand clenches around the Golden Snitch, and she slowly sits up.

Ginny lands clumsily, and falls to her knees, her chest heaving.

“How long were we going?” Ginny asks.

“A good forty-five minutes,” Madame Hooch says. “Now, the Snitch, if you will, Miss Jones.”

Gwenog holds up her fist and allows Madame Hooch to peel the Snitch from her leather-covered palm. Gwenog hums and sits up, brushing her curls back from her stick forehead. She looks over at Ginny and grins.

“Forty-five minutes of a Seeker’s Match. You nearly had me, kid,” Gwenog laughs.

Ginny snorts, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t. You won easily.”

“If it was easy, I would’ve won in the first five minutes, Gwenog insists breathlessly. She hums to herself, shaking her head. “Kid, you’ve got _talent_. The once in a century kind of talent.”

And Ginny _burns_ from that kind of praise. She smiles wildly, unable to tame it. She might’ve tried to—before—but she doesn’t tame her joy, her pride, her fear, her ambitions for _anyone_ anymore. She lets it loose.

“Really? You think so?” Ginny asks.

“Well, I’m not in the business of _lying_ ,” Gwenog chides. “Look, you’ve still got two years of school, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ginny says forlornly and she grins when Gwenog laughs at her tone.

“That’s two years too long,” Gwenog mutters to herself. “Look Philomena—Philomena Logg—wants to retire soon. She’s getting older, she says her wrists aren’t what they used to be, and her sight’s weakening.”

Philomena Logg is the Holyhead Harpies’ Seeker. Ginny holds her breath; she’s too afraid of breathing or she’ll ruin it.

“Yeah?” Ginny whispers.

“I think she’d want to train with her replacement sometime this summer. A week in July, just to start. Next summer, we can try a month or two. Just to make sure you’re in professional shape,” Gwenog says, as if she’s speaking to herself.

“But...but, I’m a _Chaser_ ,” Ginny blurts out.

Gwenog hums. “Yeah, and a damned good one at that. But, you’re a fabulous Seeker too, Ginny,” Gwenog says. “I think you could play either position. Just...you want to be a Holyhead Harpy?”

“Yes. More than _anything_ ,” Ginny says fiercely.

Gwenog smiles. “Then, come train under Philomena this summer. I’ll have our GM write a formal invitation up and everything. So your parents know everything is real,” Gwenog says.

Ginny stops breathing. She stares at Gwenog Jones, the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and tries not to scream, because this is everything. Her _dreams_ are coming true, and she doesn’t know what to do but breathe and she can’t even manage that.

“I—yes!” Ginny nearly shrieks.

Gwenog is graceful enough to just grin. “Good. Not get out of here, kid. Madame Hooch and I need to catch up.”

Ginny nods fiercely, clutching Harry’s broomstick to her chest. She turns, looking up at the stands and grins when she spots Ron and the others, waving down at her. She vibrates with the need to go up there, to throw her arms around her brother, and declare that she’s _done_ it. Her first steps to being a professional Quidditch player.

But, then.

_Then._

She sees her boy.

He’s standing at the edge of the pitch, and she can see his grin from all the way over here.

Her boy for whom she’s never had to shrink herself for. Her boy who has always believed in her.

Her _Blaise._

And there’s no one she wants to see more, first.

“Blaise!” Ginny shouts, stumbling across the sand. “Blaise!”

Blaise grins at her, throwing his arms open and Ginny pitches herself into them, clinging to him. Her toes brush against the ground as Blaise holds her up, landing a kiss to her lips.

“You were _brilliant!_ ” Blaise shouted.

Ginny laughs. “I _lost_.”

“But, you lost to Gwenog _Jones_ ,” Blaise retorts.

Ginny grins even harder, her heart beating fast in her chest. “Well, guess who’s been invited to train for a week with Gwenog Jones and the Holyhead Harpies?”

Blaise pulls back, looking her in the face. Ginny is practically shaking with her excitement.

“God, you’re brilliant, Ginny Weasley,” Blaise says, softer.

Ginny snorts. “And don’t you forget it. Stalker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're almost to the end and I can't leave you without having a revisit to our FAVORITE mains, and then some!


	60. MONDAY, 7:34PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, lavender brown writes her own happily ever afters.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Can I go where you go?  
> Can we always be this close?  
> Forever and ever, ah  
> Take me out, and take me home  
> You're my, my, my, my lover"
> 
> -Lover, Taylor Swift

“So...how are you and Pansy?” Ginny asks.

“We’re really good. Taking it a day at a time. She wasn’t in for the Ancient Runes’ presentations today, but we’re presenting on Wednesday anyway. I brought her lunch,” Hermione says with a wide smile.

Lavender envies that smile.

Hermione seems so _happy,_ she’s practically exploding at the seams with it. And Lavender envies her so much. Her _and_ Harry _and_ Ginny, the way they seem to just effortlessly fall in loving relationships. Lavender bites her bottom lip and looks away.

“And you and Zabini? He seems quite excited for you yesterday,” Luna says with a little smile.

Lavender perks up, eyes wide. “Excited about what?” she asks, because she hasn’t heard about this, being in the library furiously studying for her exams, and Lavender prides herself on being up to date on _all_ of her friends’ lives, mostly because she doesn’t really have one of her own.

“I can’t believe that private practice with Gwenog went so well that she’s invited me to train with the team for a week,” Ginny says, jittery with excitement. Lavender can’t help her sharp squeal. “I wrote my parents and everything, and they’re _so_ excited. Fred and George are buying me a new broom and _everything_.”

Lavender beams.

“That’s _amazing,_ ” Lavender says cheerfully. “Everything is just... _happening_ for everyone, isn’t it?”

Lavender realizes that she’s said the wrong thing when she notices the shrewd light in Hermione’s eyes.

“Things will happen for you too,” Hermione insists.

Lavender gives a thin, lipless smile. Hermione is sweet, even though she pretends not to be. Hermione is also far more discerning about relationships than they give her credit for, particularly with her newfound relationship with Pansy giving her insight. She’s the one that noticed that Lavender is still _afraid._

Tom Riddle was her first of many things. First love. First time. First heartbreak.

She has a feeling that he will be her best friend’s last, and sometimes, that still aches, but only in the phantom sort of way. The way an old scar twinges. Lavender doesn’t want to feel this way, but she can’t help it.

Sometimes, the old scar _hurts_ , and she isn’t in a hurry to leave more on her body. She doesn’t want Ron to be a scar.

“I can’t believe it wasn’t _me_ that made you and Pansy happen. All this time I tried to spend matchmaking gone to waste,” Lavender sighs dramatically. She hums to herself, tapping at her chin, and smiling to herself.

“It doesn’t have to,” Luna says.

Lavender raises an eyebrow. “Got your eye on anyone, Luna Lovegood?”

“Hmm no, but you do.”

Lavender freezes. “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ginny scoffs. “Anyone with eyes knows that you fancy my brother, Lav.”

Lavender glares at her.

“Lavender...I know that this year hasn’t been easy for you,” Hermione says knowingly. Lavender’s cheeks flush and she can’t meet Hermione’s eyes. “But, maybe...you should make yourself happy and try to stop fixing everyone else’s happiness.”

Lavender swallows.

She loves making everyone else happy. It’s harder to do it for herself.

“I...I don’t—” Lavender starts and the finishes.

“Come off it, Lavender, he’s practically in love with you,” Ginny says.

Lavender’s heart flutters at the idea.

“Don’t _say_ untrue things. It’s unkind,” Lavender says harshly.

Ginny blinks at her owlishly. “Do you...really not believe me?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Luna confirms. “I feel like Ginny would know, wouldn’t she, Lavender?”

Lavender stares at her lap, frowning.

“Maybe you should just ask him,” Hermione suggests. She’s looking pointedly, across the common room.

Lavender follows her gaze and stills when she sees them. Harry and Ron.

They should be revising for the Defence exam tomorrow, but they aren’t. Harry doesn’t need to revise, because he's...well, Harry. And Ron will use any excuse not to work.

Lavender Brown has always loved fairytales. She has always been obsessed with romance, sneaking a look at her mother’s steamy Mills & Boons since twelve, obsessed with the stories over the wireless, obsessed with her parents’ wedding album. Lavender wants to live a fairytale.

Lavender Brown has just realized that she must write her _own_ story.

She stands up to her feet abruptly, ignoring the startled surprise of the other girls and she shakes her nerves out from her wrists.

“Go, Lavender,” Ginny cheers softly.

Lavender glances over her shoulder, down at the three girls, and smiles.

Her gaze falls on Hermione, and softly, she says, “Pansy Parkinson is the luckiest girl alive, isn’t she?”

And Lavender has the feeling that though she can’t see it, Hermione is blushing.

Lavender takes a deep breath and crosses the room, brushing past Neville, Dean, and Seamus whom all stop speaking as she approaches the boys’ corner.

“Hey. _Hey,_ ” Lavender says, and she curses to herself when she realizes that she’s just _repeated_ herself.

Ron looks up from his game of wizard’s chess. He looks over at Harry, raising an eyebrow, and Harry shrugs. Lavender glares pointedly at Harry, but he’s never been great at picking up social cues, she knows. He stares at her, eyebrows rising.

Lavender huffs and looks back at Ron.

“What’s up, Lavender?” Ron asks.

Lavender clears her throat, standing up taller, which is not very tall. “I—well, stand up, Ron,” she instructs, because this is going to go a very specific way. She has choreographed this moment in her head many times, and it was always _him_ doing the asking.

But, Lavender’s learning that she needs to be the active one. The brave one.

She can be _brave_.

She’s been brave before, and she can be brave again.

Ron stands up slowly. “Did I...do something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” Lavender says, firmly. She opens her mouth and clears her throat, reaching forward to smooth his tie down. Ron’s ears turn red, and slowly, _that’s_ what makes Lavender unwind. His red ears. Merlin, Lavender loves when his ears turn red— _oh._ “ _Oh._ ”

“What?” Ron asks.

“Oh, nothing I...I just realized something,” Lavender whispers quietly. She keeps her fingers on his tie and slowly looks up at him. “I wanted to ask you something. I was afraid to before. But, I’m...I’m not anymore.”

Ron nods. “That’s good. But, what _is_ it that you want to ask me?”

“I know...I know it’s the end of term. But, do you want to get dinner with me tomorrow? In Hogsmeade? Or the kitchens? Or...anywhere, really?” Lavender asks. She pauses. “It would be a date, just so you know.”

And it’s not terribly tragical or terribly romantic.

But, this moment is _hers_.

Ron stares at her like she’s just hit him over the head. Lavender waits patiently because she knows that sometimes it takes Ron a moment to compute things. She looks over at Harry, and he’s grinning at her. He gives her a thumb’s up, and Lavender giggles.

That seems to shock Ron into responding.

“Yes,” he blurts out. “Yes, yes, _yes_. I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay!”

And then, Lavender stands on her toes, grabbing at his shoulders, and Ron has to duck his head awkwardly because he’s so tall. It’s strange and they’re terribly mismatched.

It’s perfect anyway.


	61. TUESDAY, 3:21PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, luna and harry visit the thestrals one last time.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Grab me by my ankles, I've been flying for too long  
> I couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song  
> And I want you so badly, but you could be anyone  
> I couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song
> 
> Hold me down, I'm so tired now  
> Aim your arrow at the sky  
> Take me down, I'm too tired now  
> Leave me where I lie"
> 
> -Sky Full of Song, Florence + the Machine

Harry has always hated the smell of raw meat.

He’s not especially squeamish about it, but the smell is quite unpleasant. It’s the only downside to feeding the thestrals. When Hagrid passes him the cooler of meat, he holds it close to his chest and waddles with Luna at his side, a beatific smell on her face.

Luna sniffs the air rather loudly and then declares, “Philip and Crosby are going to be so excited, Harry. It’s their favorite! Raw beef.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, because Luna identifying meat by smell alone is a rather new thing.

“Is Crosby old enough to have favorites?” Harry asks. He knows arguing is futile, but he’s curious about Luna’s answer anyway.

“Well, of course. He’s a foal, but he’s not stupid,” Luna says judgmentally. She hums to herself, her lips curling into a wide smile as they read the edge of the Forbidden Forest and the thestrals’ paddock. Harry can’t help but smile himself when he sees the great skeletal black beasts, their thin wings flapping in the air in excitement. “Ah, my friends!”

Luna runs ahead of Harry, her long silver hair like a flag behind her as she rushes down the hill. When Luna reaches the paddock, she hangs over the fencing, wrapping her arms around Philip’s neck. Philip nickers near her temple, bumping her head against Luna. Harry smiles as Luna climbs over the fencing and pats Crosby on the head before she goes to say hello to the rest of the thestrals.

When Harry finally reaches them, Luna has long opened the gate for him and the thestrals seem to smell the raw meat in the cooler as he sets it down.

“Late lunch!” Harry calls.

He flips open the cooler, and lets Luna do this part. She loves feeding the thestrals. As she digs her hands into the chunks of beef, she looks up with a smile.

“Do you remember the first time we came here?”

Harry remembers it well. He was a third year, and she was a second year, and he’d found her shoes. She’d written her name on the tongues of the trainers. A  _ Point me  _ Luna Lovegood had led him down to the thestral paddock.

“I do,” Harry says softly.

Luna laughs to herself, sweetly. “It’s...funny that grief would lead us to the life we have now,” Luna says. And then she stops. “Except, it’s not funny at all, is it? That’s how the world goes.”

“Is it?” Harry asks.

Luna nods to herself, firmer this time. “I think so. It’s like...a burned field. Grief. When you burn that field, the dirt turns over and it’s brand new again, new something to grow there. I met you because of grief. Grief over my mother. Grief over your parents. We found each other. And then, we found the Defence Squad.”

And Harry has never thought about it. He’s never considered grief to be a healing thing, but maybe it is, because grief led him to the best people that he knows. Grief made way for rage and love in equal measure, all of these terribly human and powerful things that he experiences deep in his chest.

“We did,” Harry agrees. “Where do you think we would be if we didn’t have grief?”

Luna considers.

“I’m not sure. I want to say that I think there are some friendships that are destined. Maybe that’s all of ours. Maybe not,” Luna says softly. “But, I’m not sure I want to think about the what-ifs.”

“That’s unlike you. You like to imagine all the possibilities,” Harry says curiously.

Luna doesn’t look at him, choosing to feed tiny bits of beef to Crosby. She slowly sits in the middle of the paddock and Crosby’s skinny bone legs fold beneath him as he settles nearly across her lap.

“Yes, but...without you all, I’m not sure if I would be who I am, and I really do like who I am,” Luna explains. “You’re all my first friends. I am...blessed by Destiny to have you all. I have become who I want, and I’m comfortable with that, because none of you have ever made me  _ feel  _ uncomfortable.”

Harry’s smile softens and he gets closer to her, strangely awkward and then, not at all. Luna is loose and sweet, but there’s always a strange lack of vulnerability to her. Harry’s always thought it’s because she doesn’t care about what people think. He thinks he might’ve had it wrong.

Luna  _ does  _ care what  _ some  _ people think of her.

“Before you all, I was flying and flying for far too long. Flying all alone,” Luna says. “You all anchor me. You make me want to be anchored.”

Harry gets on his knees next to her, grabbing her hand before she can reach into the cooler again.

“I’m glad that you anchor me too.”


	62. WEDNESDAY, 4:50PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, hermione and pansy are sapphic queens and the miseducation ends.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "I wanted you to be my baby girl tonight  
> And all the other boys could just say goodbye  
> And once you get a little piece of mine  
> You can just set all of those other boys aside"
> 
> -Boys Aside, Sofya Wang

“In short, oracle bone script and Nabataen can both be described as precursors to the modern branches of magic of Divination and Healing. Thank you,” Hermione finishes.

The class stares for a brief moment, blank-faced after the onslaught of education. Hermione’s smile falters.

“ _ Clap _ ,” Pansy growls.

The entire class bursts into applause, frantic to please. Professor Babbling smiles, clapping enthusiastically. She leans forward from her perch on her desk, her gaze sweeping over the charts that Hermione and Pansy had painstakingly copied down.

“This was a  _ thorough  _ presentation, ladies. Excellent, excellent,” Professor Babbling chants as she marks something down in her grading book. Hermione beams, because she’s  _ very  _ confident that she’ll be getting full marks. “Now, class, in our last few minutes, are there any questions.”

Hermione turns to the class, expecting some questions.

She doesn’t expect Pansy to step forward, suddenly uncertain.

“Pansy?” Hermione asks.

Pansy hums. “I...I don’t have a question, but I do have something I want to say,” Pansy declares. She swallows hard, looking from Professor Babbling to Hermione. Hermione frowns at her, but Pansy’s lips curl into a smile, almost against her will. “I wanted to talk a bit about how I use Runes in my personal life.”

“Oh?” Professor Babbling asks. “Do go ahead, Pansy.”

Pansy clears her throat. “I...can’t really use magic as freely as I’d like to. Last year, I discovered that I have a latent blood malediction that restricts my use of magic. I’d always enjoyed my Ancient Runes classes, but I didn’t realize how useful it was until last year, when I had to learn other ways of using magic,” Pansy explains.

Hermione’s breath catches in her throat, and she fights back tears as she grins proudly at Pansy.

Pansy continues, “Active spell casting is dangerous for me, but Ancient Runes allows me access to powerful magics that I’d never thought possible before. Learning different forms of Runes allows me to operate as a normal magical person in our community. So...yeah, this...exploring oracle bone script, which is part of _my_ East Asian culture, and Nabataen, which is the parent of Arabic, Hermione’s first language, has been really amazing. So, thanks, Professor Babbling.”

Pansy dips her head and this time, the applause is far more genuine. Hermione reaches across and laces her fingers through Pansy’s. Professor Babbling’s smile is far more gentler now.

“Thank you for that, Pansy,” Professor Babbling says.

Hermione leads Pansy back to their seats in the front, and she never lets go of Pansy’s hand.

Professor Babbling turns to address the class.

“I don’t have much of a speech for you all. You’re all sixth years now, and you’ve heard my spiel thrice before already. Your presentations have all turned out far better than I could ever imagine. I am so very proud of you all. It has been an absolute pleasure teaching you this year. Thank you so much. Have a wonderful summer!”

For once, Hermione isn’t the last to leave the classroom.

She slams her notebook in her bag and tugs Pansy to her feet, looping her arm through Pansy’s. Pansy laughs.

“Why are  _ you  _ in such a rush?” Pansy teases, pressing a kiss to the top of Hermione’s head, no matter that it’s slicked back with gel or the way Hermione’s puffs scratch at her eye.

“Because,” Hermione says sharply as she elbows past a few Ravenclaws, and heads out the door, never loosening her tight hold on Pansy.

“Because?” Pansy repeats. She squawks when Hermione shoves her into an alcove, away from any prying eyes. Hermione turns and waves her wand, casting a brief Notice-Me-Not charm and a well-placed  _ Muffliato _ , before she turns back to Pansy. “You are  _ scaring  _ me.”

“You are  _ so  _ brave,” Hermione whispers. “And  _ so  _ hot.”

Pansy laughs as she tugs Hermione close to her. Hermione goes easily and laughs when Pansy twists them around so that she’s backing Hermione up. Pansy presses Hermione up against the wall and stares down at her for a brief moment. Pansy brushes her fingertips against Hermione’s cheek and she leans down until their lips are just a breath apart.

“I love you,” she whispers, and before Hermione can respond in kind, Pansy is kissing her fiercely.

Hermione wraps her arms around Pansy’s neck and arches up into her, kissing her back just as hard. Their tongues tangle and Hermione feels reckless in a way that she never lets herself feel. She feels whole and happy and hale, and she can’t think of any place that she’d rather be.

Hermione sighs.

She had once thought that she was only a list. She’d once thought that there was only a list, but there’s no way to organize all of her emotions into something so logical.

There is only this.

“Five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!”

Hermione pulls back, breathing hard. She looks over Pansy’s shoulder and sees Ron there, leaning against the opposite wall, a smirk on his face. He looks triumphant that he’s finally caught Hermione out for something.

“You can just shove—” Pansy starts.

Hermione laughs and pulls Pansy down again, shutting her up with a kiss.


	63. THURSDAY, 5:22PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, harry reaches euphoria.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "Dreams, dreams, dreams
> 
> I've been havin' dreams  
> Jumpin' on a trampoline  
> Flippin' in the air  
> I never land just float there  
> As I'm looking up (As I'm looking up)  
> Suddenly the sky erupts (Sky erupts, sky erupts)  
> Flames alight the trees  
> Spread to fallin' leaves  
> Now they're right upon me"
> 
> -Trampoline (with ZAYN), SHAED

Harry finds him by the lake, smoking a cigarette.

Harry knows that Tom senses him approaching for a long time before he reaches the taller man’s side. He assumes that means Tom doesn’t mind him standing there. Harry swallows around the stubborn knot in his throat. He stands next to Tom and looks up at him from the corner of his eye.

“Do you remember the night that you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up?” Harry asks.

Tom takes a long drag from his cigarette. Harry knows that Tom's not ignoring him. He’s considering an answer.

“Yes. Orange blossom or Darjeeling,” Tom says and Harry’s heart clenches.

“You said that you might want to work at Hogwarts because Hogwarts is your home,” Harry says softly. He swallows around the knot in his throat and takes a step closer until their knuckles are brushing against one another. “You also said that you shouldn’t have to know. That  _ we  _ shouldn’t have to know.”

“I did.”

“I should’ve taken that more to heart,” Harry confesses quietly. He clears his throat. “I was pushing you about what you were going to do.”

Tom turns to look at him. “You were getting angry with me, and I had no idea why. You were acting irrational, Harry.”

Harry twitches with irritation. “I wasn’t being  _ irrational _ —”

“You were,” Tom interrupts.

“Shut up,” Harry snaps. “I...I...you were going to  _ leave  _ me.”

Tom pauses. “What?”

“You were going to leave me.  _ Again _ ,” Harry snarls. Tom’s expression doesn’t betray his emotion, except for the way his eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. “You were going to leave me. Or you were going to expect me to follow. I don’t know what you want, and you won’t  _ tell  _ me.”

“You never  _ asked _ ,” Tom retorts.

“You don’t make it easy!” Harry buries his face in his hands and takes a deep calming breath, before he throws his hands down to his sides, standing up straight once more. “You make everything  _ so  _ hard, Tom. You don’t talk to me. You don’t tell me any of your  _ plans _ . You make it so I can’t breathe sometimes.”

“You think you’re easy?” Tom asks. “You are emotional and quick to anger and quicker to action. Did you ever think that, perhaps, I was just  _ considering  _ my future?”

“Then, you should’ve said!”

“You should’ve asked.”

Harry flinches and looks away, biting down on his bottom lip, hard enough to worry it raw.

“What do you want, Tom?” Harry asks. “From me. From...everything.”

Tom hums and takes another long drag, looking out at the smoke.

“I never want to stop learning,” Tom says. “Learning about magic. Learning about the world. About you.”

Harry’s heart clenches. “Secret for a secret,” he whispers.

Tom straightens. “If I could, I would travel to the ends of the world, unravelling the secrets of magic. I would go further than any other and I would do anything, sacrifice  _ anything _ .”

Harry flinches hard. He lets out a quiet laugh.

“Oh. Well...my secret isn’t nearly as dramatic. I just...haven’t even told Mione or Ron,” Harry says, attempting to sound cheerful. “I’ve decided that I love duelling. I loved teaching my Defence Squad how to duel. I’ve decided to be Remus’ TA next year. Sorry, but I’ll be poaching that job you want so badly.”

Harry turns his back on Tom and gasps when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks back.

“I said if I could,” Tom says carefully.

“Why can’t you? No one’s stopping you,” Harry says softly. “Least of all me.”

Tom snorts and traces Harry’s jaw. “Aren’t you? I believe you’ve bewitched me, Harry Potter,” Tom says quietly, and Harry can’t help the sharp pierce of relief.

Even still, he takes a few steps forward before he turns around, putting distance between them.

“I said I didn’t need you,” Harry says quietly. “I just never...realized that you didn’t need me either.”

Tom flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his Oxford shoe. He takes a step closer to Harry, folding his arms over his chest. Harry flinches under the weight of those burgundy eyes. He refuses to lower his gaze, taking it all.

“I don’t need you,” Tom acknowledges. He pauses. “But, you are always what I’ve wanted. Rage and all.”

Harry startles, his breath catching his throat, and he nods, taking a step forward. Tom doesn’t move away.

“I need you to know that I  _ am  _ proud of you,” Harry whispers. “You’re great. I just don’t...want to hold you back. There’s nothing I’d hate more. I’d rather be done with it now, if you think I would. But, if you don’t think I would, just please...don’t...don’t—”

And then, Tom is there, his hands, large and spider-like, are cupping Harry’s jaw. Harry gasps and Tom presses closer. Harry grabs his waist, clinging to him as he looks up at him. Tom stares down at him, hungrily, like he’s memorizing each part of him.

“I lied,” Tom says.

Harry snorts. “I am unsurprised. What have you lied about?”

“My secret.”

“What’s your secret?”

“I didn’t think that I’d ever be so affected by another human being,” Tom says, almost like he’s speaking to himself. Harry lets out a tiny laugh, and Tom sighs, pressing his forehead to Harry’s. “I told you that you are my equal, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry whispers. “I love you. I  _ love  _ you. I...don’t leave me behind.”

Harry has spent his entire life being left behind. It isn’t until he got to his first home, Hogwarts— _ their  _ first home—that he wasn’t. It wasn’t until he met Ron and Hermione. Sirius and Remus. Miriam.  _ Tom _ . Harry can’t take being left behind all over again—

“You’re  _ mine _ .”

Tom snarls it with a ferocity, a deep viciousness that comes from his chest. Harry wants to taste that on his tongue. He wraps his arms around Tom’s neck and nudges his nose against Tom’s.

Harry knows this man. Harry knows this man, sins and all.

“And you’re mine,” he swears.

And then, they’re kissing and Harry feels like he’s come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I saved this remix exactly for this scene. Harry and Tom's last solo scene with a remix of their first kiss song. Welp. Here we are.
> 
> We're SO close to the end. I'm JITTERING with excitement for Saturday's chapter (but don't be sad, there will be two chapters tomorrow). I think Saturday will be a long one (long for HEX, which means around 2k words) so I'm still editing and rewriting that one.


	64. FRIDAY, 1:32PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, draco and pansy grieve.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "I could follow you to the beginning  
> And just to relive the start  
> And maybe then we'll remember to slow down  
> At all of our favorite parts
> 
> All I wanted was you"
> 
> -All I Wanted, Paramore

She finds him in the library, not far from where she usually is with the Princess. Before this was her and Princess’ space, it was theirs. It’s the only place she thought to look when she couldn’t find him in the Common Room or the dorms.

“Dray.”

Draco looks at her, and Pansy suddenly feels that grief deep in the pit of her all over again. She thinks about all of the things that she’s gained, but she can’t help but mourn what she’s lost. Her hands itch; they miss him. She can see that he misses her too.

“Pans,” Draco says quietly. He looks away, and that hurts too.

“I...I miss you,” Pansy confesses in a harsh whisper, and she can’t look at him either. This is the first time that she’s said that out loud.

“Don’t let Granger hear you say that,” Draco says, his voice dripping with bitterness.

Pansy glares. “She...she  _ knows _ ,” Pansy spits, and Draco looks at her, wide-eyed. “I’m afraid to say it out loud, but she  _ knows _ . She...she understands what you meant to me. What you  _ mean  _ to me.”

“And?” Draco’s voice sounds hollow. “What does that mean now? I thought we were finished.”

Pansy  _ misses  _ him.

“We...we are,” Pansy forces out.

“Then, what are you  _ doing  _ here?” he demands, his voice trembling, and Pansy’s heart  _ aches _ .

Her eyes sting and Pansy hasn’t cried in so long. She sees him. He’s right  _ there _ , and he feels so far away.

“I don’t know...I just thought that you’d miss me too,” Pansy says sharply. “I guess, I was wrong.”

Pansy turns on her heel, preparing to march away. And then, his hand is around her wrist. Pansy looks back at him, and she swallows at the look on his face.

“Of course I miss you,” Draco says firmly. “I miss you so much, it’s like I’m missing a  _ limb _ . But...you chose her.”

“I chose what was right,” Pansy corrects gently.

Draco swallows hard, and she watches him swallow his emotions and his pride.

“I can...I can choose what’s right,” Draco says quietly. “I can change. I  _ will  _ change. To keep you in my life. It’s always been us against the world, Pans.”

And it would be so easy for Pansy to agree.

It  _ has  _ always been Draco and Pansy against the world. They’d met when they were children. It had always been them.

But, Pansy has chosen not to do things the easy way anymore.

“I don’t want you to change for me,” Pansy says firmly. “I want you to change for  _ you _ .”

“For me?” Draco whispers.

Pansy nods sharply. “Draco, do you understand what changing would mean? It means that you would have to understand the things that I care about. The people I love. But, you’re not there yet. You love me, but you don’t really love all of me, and you shouldn’t try to change just for me, when you don’t even know me.”

“Know you?” Draco spits. “I know  _ all  _ of you.”

“You don’t,” Pansy says gently, because she doesn’t want to hurt him, but she wants to be honest. “I love Muggle music. I love going into Tesco’s, just to see the Muggle food. I love Muggle Prague in the fall. I love a Muggleborn girl. I  _ love  _ her. I respect her. You don’t know anything about that. You don’t know everything about me.”

Draco stares at her, and he doesn’t speak.

Pansy steps forward, cupping his cheek.

“You don’t know me. But, if you want to, change for you. Not for me.”

And then Pansy’s gone. Pansy doesn’t look back.

* * *

Draco stares after her, feeling cold. He’s felt cold for weeks now, and it’s strange. Strange that envy feels cold instead of like burning. And Draco isn’t even sure who he feels envious of—Granger, for stealing Pansy away or Pansy, for being stolen, for being  _ saved _ . Draco swallows back the poison on his tongue.

He’s shaking.

He’s mourning. He’s been mourning for years, he feels.

Draco stings with rage, festers with bitterness, burns with regret. He laughs to himself, hates the sounds of it, the way it echoes in his ears. Even, still, he hears Pansy in his ear, on his shoulder. He’s always heard her there.

“Mr. Malfoy, what  _ are  _ you doing here still?” Madame Pince asks.

Draco blinks. He’s by the front desk.

It’s a reasonable question; everyone’s going home tomorrow. Exams are finished. Draco returned all of his books earlier in the week, anyway. He hadn’t studied much harder than usual. He’d be second to Granger, as always; third, in the case of Defence, where Potter came first.

“I...Madame Pince,” he starts, and he’s not sure why, but he asks, “could you recommend any books on...electricity?”


	65. FRIDAY, 10:16PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, the Ginny Weasley Defence Squad becomes something more.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "We don't need to be related to relate  
> We don't need to share genes or a surname  
> You are, you are  
> My chosen, chosen family  
> So what if we don't look the same?  
> We been going through the same thing, yeah  
> You are, you are  
> My chosen, chosen family"
> 
> Chosen Family, Rina Sawayama

“I can’t believe we’re all going home tomorrow,” Lavender pouts as she runs into the Room of Requirement and dives face-first into the enormous pile of pillows. She makes a soft _oof_ before she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t _want_ to go home.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind my mum’s cooking and no homework,” Ron says as he collapses into the pillows next to her. His ears turn red when Lavender rolls over into his side, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“So, you won’t miss me?” Lavender teases.

“Well, I didn’t say all of _that_ ,” Ron mutters.

Lavender giggles, and Hermione can’t help her tiny smile.

Lavender and Ron don’t really make sense. Ron is so tall and gangly and awkward and _funny_. Lavender is vivacious and romantic and lovely. But, also funny. So, maybe they do make sense, in a way. Hermione’s heart clenches with happiness.

She looks over at Luna and Ginny as they cross the Room of Requirement, their curiosity triggered by the stereo in the corner, all of the tapes and CDs that sit in crates next to it. Hermione laughs to herself; the Room senses her and it brings Pansy’s favorite things to do. It seems that they’re a package deal now. Hermione can think of nothing she likes more.

“You okay?”

Hermione looks over at Harry. He’s smiling down at her, a quiet happiness in his eyes.

Harry never used to look like this. He’d always had a smile, but joy was an emotion absent from his vocabulary. Harry had never had much to be joyful about.

“Yeah. I am. How about you?” Hermione asks.

Harry bites his bottom lip. “I took your advice and I talked to Tom. We’re...back together. I think we’ve reached an understanding,” Harry explains, fighting his grin, trying to tame it, but he can’t quite manage it.

“Oh, habibi, I’m so happy for you,” Hermione says firmly, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “You know that...I’ve never...Tom Riddle is... _interesting_.”

Harry snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

“He raises many red flags. He’s violent and cruel and dangerous,” Hermione says, and she knows Harry well enough that he’s going to get defensive. She grabs his arm, squeezing. “But, with you...he is none of those things. He cares _deeply_ for you. He’s proven that he’d _do_ anything for you. And that’s important.”

Harry hums. “Tom is batshit crazy,” he declares. “I know that. He hides it _very_ well, but Tom is not... _right._ But, he feels...right for _me_.”

Hermione hums and holds her tongue. “Okay,” she says.

“Hey, Hermione! This is Muggle stuff, right?” Ginny calls from across the room.

Hermione smiles back at Harry and joins Ginny and Luna by the stereo. “Yes. This is mostly Pansy’s music, but all the hip hop and R&B are mine.”

“Pansy listens to Muggle music?” Ginny squawks.

“What’s R&B?” Luna asks.

Hermione grins. “Rhythm & Blues. Hip hop and R&B are Black people music. I’m Black, so,” Hermione says with a shrug. She squats and hums, going through it all. “I’m a Biggie fan, but I like Tupac a lot. Nas and Big Pun. Wu-Tang Clan and Jay-Z. Destiny’s Child. But, my favorite is Ms. Lauryn Hill.”

Ginny’s eyes widen. “You know so much about music.”

“It’s something I enjoy,” Hermione says with a shrug. “And it’s part of what helped Pansy and I bond.”

“That’s really cute!” Lavender squeaks from the pile.

Hermione laughs to herself.

“Who’s Destiny’s Child? What’s their name?” Ron asks. "How did Destiny give birth to them?"

Hermione laughs even harder as she goes through the tapes and picks out one. She slides it into the stereo. She presses play and watches as Lavender sits up straight at the first sound of the drum roll, her eyes widening and widening until they’re the size of dinner plates.

“Who _is this_?” Lavender demands. “What’s the name of this song?”

“Lose My Breath,” Hermione says. “Her name is Beyonce. And then there’s Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams. They’re a group called Destiny's Child.”

Lavender rolls off the pillows and bounces up and down. “It’s _amazing_. Hermione, why did you _keep_ this from me?” she wails.

Ron’s nose wrinkles. “I mean, it sounds okay—”

“Shut up!” Lavender hisses as she moves to the beat of the music. “This is so much better than the _Weird Sisters_.”

“Categorically untrue,” Harry mutters, but Lavender just spins around, grabbing a pillow and chucks it at Harry’s head.

Harry uses his Seeker skills to duck under the pillow. He grins and spins around, swinging the pillow back at Lavender. It hits her in the face and she squeals, falling back and sprawling across Ron’s lap. Ron laughs, curling around her, brushing her curls from her face.

“How are you, then, Lav?”

“Perfect,” Lavender grins. “Want to have some fun?”

“Always,” Ron says slyly.

Lavender grins and twists off his lap, grabbing a pillow. “Attack!”

Hermione shrieks as Lavender and Ron jump up, both armed with pillows and swinging them at anyone they could reach. Luna giggles when Ron slams her into the pillows. She grabs two and windmills her arms, attacking Hermione and Hermione snatches it from her hand and hits Ginny over the head.

Harry is the first to tear a pillow as he hits both Ron and Lavender on the head. The pillow explodes, showering them in feathers.

Ginny cackles. “Merlin, you split _—ack!_ ” she spits as a feather catches in the throat.

Hermione laughs even harder and hits her in the back of the head with a pillow for her trouble. Her own pillow splits, exploding high in the air.

Hermione looks up as the feathers rain down above them. She holds the split pillow to her chest and twists, looking around her. Luna and Lavender look like they’re crashing to the ground in slow motion, both of their faces bright with happiness.

Ron and Ginny are chasing one another around, Ron’s face bright red with joy as he chokes on his own laughter. Ginny tackles him and Ron simply catches her, hooking his arm around her middle and swinging her around as they collapse into the massive pile of pillows.

And there’s Harry with his own pillow.

He looks just as bewildered as her.

 _This is ours. We made this_ , he seems to be thinking.

And Hermione remembers.

She remembers a small bespectacled orphan boy with a lightning scar on his forehead, tucked into the corner of a train compartment. She remembers a boy alone. She remembers being just a girl—a Black Arab girl—with no one to look to, with no one to hold her hand.

She remembers the day she met her _habibi_.

 _This is ours. We made this,_ she thinks back.

And when Hermione Granger runs at him—her best friend, her habibi— throwing her arms around him, Harry Potter catches her.

They land on their knees, in the middle of their _family_.


	66. SATURDAY, 10:40 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which...the kids are alright.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> "We don't really care about the trends you like to follow  
> You know what they say, they here today and gone tomorrow  
> Oooh  
> Oooh
> 
> If I'm in the mood I get as ratchet as I wanna  
> Turn around and show you, I could bless you with some culture  
> Oooh  
> Oooh"
> 
> -The Kids Are Alright, Chloe x Halle

“This way! Right this way!” Hagrid calls cheerfully, guiding the first years back to the Hogwarts Express.

Ginny Weasley stands at the gates of Hogwarts and looks over her shoulder at the great castle. She admires the towers that pierce the skies, the great worn stone. It strikes her that this is a castle that has stood for over a thousand years. This is a place that has been _home_ to a thousand students before her, a place that will be home to thousands after her.

This is _her_ home.

“Hey, Chaser!”

Ginny tears her gaze away from the castle and watches the boy finally leaving the Great Hall, his trunk floating behind him. Ginny grins as Blaise finally reaches her, and he wraps his arms around her, tugging her in. Ginny clings to him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Hey, stalker,” Ginny greets, softly. She pulls back. “Float my trunk?”

“Thought you didn’t want anyone doing anything for you,” Blaise teases. Ginny rolls her eyes, and waits for him to do as she asks. Blaise waves his wand, floating her bag, and he throws an arm around her shoulders as they begin the long winding walk down the hill to the train station in Hogsmeade. “This was a good year.”

“It was,” Ginny agrees. “I’m a Chaser. I won a Duelling tournament. I’ve got the attention of Gwenog Jones.”

“Everything’s come up Ginny,” Blaise teases.

Ginny laughs, though she sobers when a thought occurs to her.

“You don’t...you’re okay with all this stuff happening for me, right? I can stop talking about it if it makes you feel…” Ginny trails off.

Blaise snorts. “Ginny, even if _you_ stop talking about it, I won’t. Why wouldn’t I want the world to know how incredible you are?” Blaise demands. “You’re extraordinary, Chaser. The world should know. Hear Ginny Weasley roar.”

Ginny bites her bottom lip raw because this _boy_ —

“Okay, that’s...that’s good,” she whispers.

Blaise shrugs. “I should support you. I want to support you. And I know when I’m stressed from N.E.W.T.s and applying for jobs, you’ll be just as supportive of me. We’re partners in this, Gin,” Blaise declares and Ginny nods, grabbing his hand in hers.

“Okay, we’re partners,” she decides.

She likes the sound of that far better than calling him her boyfriend.

The farther they walk down the path, the denser the crowd gets. Blaise uses his impressive height to clear the way of underclassmen, making them swerve around the couple. Ginny preens, her teeth gleaming with pleasure as they get closer to the train.

“Ugh, so many confused second years. Shouldn’t you know the routine by second year?” Blaise mutters to himself. Ginny snorts. Blaise casts her a look from the corner of his eye. “I hate kids, Ginny Weasley. I hope that won’t be a problem in the future.”

Ginny hates kids too.

Still, she says, “Oh, planning our future, already, stalker?”

“Of course. Gotta lock down the Quidditch star,” Blaise says blankly. Ginny laughs even harder, and Blaise cracks a smile, winking at her.

His playfulness fades away, exchanged for a harder expression as he looks over Ginny’s shoulder. Ginny turns around.

Dean Thomas smiles awkwardly, but genuinely as he stands before the couple.

“Hey, man,” Dean says, holding out his hand. Blaise looks at it suspiciously, but he takes Dean’s hand gingerly and gives it a single shake before he lets go, lifting his chin in the nose. Dean rubs the back of his neck and grins. His grin softens when he turns to Ginny. “Hey, Gin.”

“Dean,” Ginny says quietly.

Dean clears his throat and takes a step closer. “Ginny, I am so sorry.”

Ginny falters, staring at Dean with wide eyes.

“I—what?” she stutters.

“I realized...that you apologized a lot during our break up,” Dean says quietly. “And I don’t think I ever apologized to _you_.”

“Dean—”

“I was not the person you needed. And even still, I tried to force you to be the person _I_ needed. I was selfish, and I’m so sorry,” Dean apologizes, earnest and quiet. He’s practically shaking and Ginny looks him in the eye, wondering what he sees.

Ginny is not the same girl that she was when they were together.

Ginny had shrunken herself for him. She had pretended not to be bold and bright. She had pretended to be the cool girl. Ginny was so done with that. She thinks that Dean might be done with that too—the pretending.

Ginny grins up at him.

“Thank you. I forgive you,” Ginny says.

She holds out her hand and Dean gives it a firm shake.

“See you next year, Ginny,” Dean says, saluting her as he grabs his trunk. He nods once at Blaise and then he lumbers back to Finnegan’s side as they get up on the train, dragging their trunks after them. Dean stops to assist a few third years.

Ginny turns back to Blaise. She smirks up at the look on his face.

“What’s that expression?” she asks, reaching up to the smooth the frown from his face.

Blaise hums. “Nothing, I just...you’re very gracious, Chaser. Too gracious,” Blaise says. And then, he shrugs. “But, it’s your grace to give.”

“You’re right,” Ginny agrees, though she doesn’t clarify her words.

Blaise presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, let’s find a compartment?”

“I need to wait for the rest of the Defence Squad. I’ll find you on the train, later? We can have lunch together,” Ginny says. She pauses as she looks up at Blaise. Blaise is beautiful and kind and _pushes_ her. Blaise is— “Hey...you want to meet my parents?”

Dean had _never_ met her parents. She wants Blaise to meet her parents.

Blaise’s eyes widen. He grins.

“Yes. Do you want to meet my mum?” he asks, just as excited.

“Yes!”

Blaise’s grin gets just a little dopier. And this is Ginny’s favorite version of Blaise. When he loses that gleam of cool.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They grin at each other until Blaise disappears into the scarlet train. Ginny spins around and laughs, loud and bright.She doesn’t care that she’s alone.

Merlin, she’s happy dammit and—she stops.

Across the platform, Ginny sees Romilda.

Romilda is standing with Colin Creevey, Yacine, and Stella. Yacine and Stella cling to one another, chattering to one another. For a moment, Ginny remembers a time when she would’ve been standing with them. She would’ve been smiling as Romilda grabbed her hands and made her promise to write. And for the first time, Ginny doesn’t really miss it.

An arm wraps around her shoulders.

Ginny looks up at Ron.

“You all right, Gin?” he asks, following her gaze.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Ginny decides.

“Good,” Ron says gruffly.

Still, neither Weasley moves. They stare at Romilda Vane.

And then, suddenly, Romilda turns and looks Ginny in the eye.

The rest of the platform falls away.

Slowly, Ginny lifts a hand and waves.

Romilda stares at her with a strange expression on her face. Her lips part.

Ginny remembers meeting Romilda for the first time. She remembers being all of eleven years old, and the youngest of a gaggle of boys. She remembers meeting Romilda Vane, an only child, but utterly fearless. Ginny _remembers._

And Romilda lifts her hand and waves back, like she remembers too.

When Romilda climbs on to the Hogwarts Express, she doesn’t look back.

Ginny Weasley doesn’t expect her to.

After all, she’ll be alright.

* * *

_Workin' ain't no nine to five_  
_California that's a vibe_  
_Friends, that's always down to ride_  
_You know, you know that's the life_  
_We just wanna have some fun_  
_It's some love for everyone_  
_Pass it 'round when you get done_  
_That's the move yeah that's the one_

* * *

Harry _should_ be looking for the Defence Squad. He thinks that he sees Lavender’s brassy curls, and he can nearly confirm it when he sees white blonde next to her, and Ron towering over the pair of them. He turns, searching for Hermione and Ginny. He _knew_ they should’ve all left together. He doesn’t know why they didn’t. Something about Ginny wanting to walk with Blaise and Hermione with Pansy.

Harry thinks it’s a little unfair that the two of them could walk with _their_ significant others, but he couldn’t. He isn’t even sure why he’s taking the train home.

It’s not like Remus doesn’t _live_ at Hogwarts.

It’s actually rather annoy—

“Harry.”

Harry gasps, spinning at the familiar voice. He looks up at Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle, who is so beautiful. Harry has always thought Tom Riddle beautiful, in the same thought that he thought Tom Riddle was an arrogant arse too. Harry still thinks those two things are true. He thinks he likes him even more for it.

“You came.”

“Of course I came,” Tom says quietly.

Harry shivers on the platform. He glances over at the rest of Defence Squad, but they seem to be giving him enough space. Suddenly, Harry doesn’t _want_ space, because this is hard. He knows that Tom came to tell him something, and he’s not sure if he can hear it. Harry’s not sure if he _wants_ to hear it.

“I’m going to be back for your graduation. I swear,” Harry declares.

Tom’s lips twitch into a smile. “I know,” he says, reaching for Harry. He runs his fingers through the dark shock of Harry’s hair and he hums. “You are ruinous, Harry Potter.”

“Oh?” Harry practically stutters.

“Very,” Tom declares. He tugs on Harry’s hair and Harry lets out a soft sound in the back of his throat. Tom’s burgundy gaze just grows darker, and Harry rather wishes they weren’t in the middle of a platform, crowded with children. “I’ll be moving into a flat in Knockturn Alley with Rosier.”

Harry’s jaw drops. He sputters, staring up at Tom. “Are you fucking _serious_?”

“I always am,” Tom declares without a hint of irony.

Harry laughs, throwing his arms around Tom, and as always, Tom catches him. Harry stands on his toes, pressing a firm kiss to Tom’s lips. He sighs contentedly as Tom kisses him back, and his hands slip just a little too low on Harry’s back, brushing the top of his ass. Harry pulls back, tossing a grin his way. Tom’s mouth twitches.

“Why? Did you...did you change your mind?” Harry asks.

Tom frowns to himself. “I didn’t...change my mind. I believe that there’s still knowledge that this isle still possesses. The Department of Mysteries... _England_ offers many things,” Tom says, and Harry can’t help but think that maybe, _Harry_ is one of those things that England still offers.

“I’ll visit when I can. I think maybe I can stop by after my sessions with Miriam, on Fridays. How does that sound? We can do lunch,” Harry declares. Tom nods once. “And you have to come visit me too. I think Dumbledore would appreciate seeing you too.”

Tom makes a sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t care about Dumbledore.”

“You’re lying,” Harry teases, shaking his head. “He’s your _favorite_ professor.”

“I don’t have favorites.”

“Li-ar,” Harry sings with a laugh.

Tom snorts and brushes Harry’s hair from his face. “ _Ha-rry_ ,” he sings gently against Harry’s temple.

“To-om,” Harry retorts. She grabs onto Tom’s sides and leverages his way up onto his toes. He looks Tom in the eye and swallows hard. Harry has always been a bit reckless, and he knows that this is the reckless thing to say, but he can’t help it. He can’t help, but say, “I love you.”

Tom’s expression is utterly still.

“I _love_ you,” Harry repeats. “Even though you’re an emotionally-constipated pain in my arse. Even though you can be cruel and mean and manipulative to your friends. Merlin, I don’t know why, but I do. Love you, I mean.”

He falls back flat on his feet, and he doesn’t feel hurt at all. He just grins up at Tom, watching as the man computes his words. Tom works through complex emotions much faster than he does simpler emotions, like love. It’s like Tom isn’t built for such things, or that it’s the reverse for him.

Tom clears his throat and then, _hisses_ at him.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You do know that I don’t speak Parseltongue, right?”

Tom rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, looking anywhere but at Harry’s face.

Harry stares at him for a long time, and then softens, because he suddenly _knows_ what Tom hissed.

Tom loves him too.

“You do?” Harry whispers.

Tom sneers. “You make me weak,” he accuses.

Harry laughs and drags him down for a kiss, drowns in the euphoria of it all.

* * *

_Everything is new cause we about that innovation_  
_Call it how we see it we a genius generation_  
_Oooh_  
_Oooh_

* * *

“Are you sitting with us, Granger?”

Hermione is surprised to be addressed but Greengrass just pops her gum, an unimpressed look forever on her face. Hermione glances at Pansy from the corner of her eye, and Pansy grins at her, waggling her eyebrows.

“Maybe for a bit. I promised to start the ride with my friends,” Hermione explains. She isn’t sure why this matters so much. She thinks it might be because this is the first time that it’s _all_ of them. Something about it feels ritualistic, and she’d hate to break it at the very start.

Bulstrode shrugs. “That’s fine. I didn’t really want to watch them snog the entire time.”

Hermione squawks. “We wouldn't have snogged!”

“Yes, we would’ve,” Pansy disagrees, tossing an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. She leans down, pressing a quick peck to Hermione’s lips. It’s a shock of warmth and Hermione leans forward, chasing that warmth again.

“See what I mean?” Bulstrode says flatly.

Hermione jerks back, her gaze fluttering around embarrassedly.

Pansy laughs against her temple. Hermione relaxes into her side and looks up at her with wide eyes. Pansy rubs her nose against Hermione’s.

“Ew,” Greengrass deadpans.

“Give us a minute, girls? I need to talk to my Princess,” Pansy declares.

Bulstrode snorts, casting an assessing look over at Hermione. “Appropriate,” she grunts before she climbs onto the train. Greengrass hovers by the entrance, grabbing Pansy’s trunk.

“I’ll wait. I’m not carrying your trunk all the way, but you can’t spell it yourself,” Greengrass declares.

Pansy waves her concern away and turns her back on her.

“What is it?” Hermione asks when she sees the intense look on Pansy’s face.

Pansy hums to herself.

“So...I talked to my mum, while I was at St. Mungo’s. I told her all about you and she really wants to meet you this summer,” Pansy says slowly, a shy smile on her lips.

Hermione’s lips twitch. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And I have some more testing this summer. Enough that I’ll be staying at the flat in London, which means we can see each other more,” Pansy says, reaching forward to take Hermione’s hands in hers.

“I already have a list of things we can do,” Hermione says immediately.

Pansy laughs, soft and quiet, just for her. “I want to meet your family too, you know. I want to...know _everything_ about you. I want to know about your culture, your faith, your family. I want to know it all. And I know that you think I’ll be afraid, because I’m a pureblood, but Merlin, Hermione, I love you.”

Hermione Granger has always identified herself in lists. She is a Gryffindor. She is a Muggleborn. She is Afro-Arab. She is English. She is a Muslimah. She is a lesbian. She is an activist. Smart. Brave.

Hermione Granger is _deeply_ in love with Pansy Parkinson, and that alone unravels the rest.

She wants to unlearn herself, and learn everything all over again, with this context—the context that she can feel a love as deep as this.

“I love you too,” Hermione whispers. “And I...I want to know you too.”

Hermione Granger has always loved learning about new things.

She doesn’t mind learning more about Pansy or them, together, either.

* * *

_Do it while you young  
Don't let them turn you numb  
Don't let them get you strung  
Ooh let me put you on  
Don't listen to them lies  
Stop following the hype  
Better meditate, better namaste  
Better go and get your life_

* * *

“Oh, there you are!” Luna says cheerfully.

Hermione raises an eyebrow at Ginny and Harry when they join her by the other half of the Defence Squad.

“Where were you two?” Hermione asks.

Ginny grins. “Dean _apologized_. And Blaise is going to meet my parents,” Ginny says cheerfully. She looked up at her brother, curiously. “Do you think Mum and Dad will like him?”

Ron’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah. He’s right charming, isn't he?” Ron says, almost in disgust. Then, almost, cheerfully, he adds, “Can’t say the same for our brothers though?”

Ginny blanches before she starts to berate her older brother. Luna’s bemused gaze darts between them, as if she’s watching a challenging tennis match.

“And you?” Hermione asks.

Harry has a funny smile on his face, like he’s just been smacked over the head. “Tom...Tom _loves_ me,” he whispers, just loud enough for Hermione and Lavender to hear, the only one’s paying attention.

Lavender lets out a sharp squeal. "Of _course_ , he does," Lavender whispers. Harry's smile only gets wider.

Hermione can barely believe it. “He _said_ that, habibi?”

Harry laughs to himself, but doesn’t answer outright. “And you? Where were you?” he asks instead.

“Pansy and I will be spending a _lot_ of time together this summer,” Hermione says simply.

Harry nods to himself. “This was…the best year, wasn’t it?” Harry asks.

Ginny tugs herself from her conversation and she looks at them. “It has.”

“And it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you,” Lavender says earnestly. When Ginny raises an eyebrow, Lavender grins. “We’re the Ginny Weasley Defence Squad.”

Ginny lets out a soft chuckle and she reaches forward, wrapping her arms around Lavender and squeezing her tight. “Merlin, I love you all,” she says. And then, a sly look crosses her face, and Hermione just notices the wand in her hand. “Honestly, I love you enough for this: _Coloro!_ ”

An explosion of orange paint flies from the end of her wand, splattering in Ron’s face.

Ron makes a noise stumbling back as he wipes the paint from his face. Ginny throws her head back and lets out a belly laugh. Lavender squawks as she reaches for her curls and draws her fingers back, spots of orange paint on her hand. Lavender turns to Ron and she giggles.

“Oh, love…” she says, teasingly and she stands on her toes as Ron sputters, and silences him with a kiss. And then, with her orange lips, she teases, and says, “I will avenge you. _Coloro!_ ”

Magenta paint splatters on the left of Ginny, but she was prepared just enough. The Shield Charm blocks the majority of the paint, sending it on to someone’s back.

There’s a moment of silence as he turns.

Harry squawks. “Tom! I-I thought you left,” he says, forcing his words through his cackles.

Tom’s expression doesn’t twitch. Instead, he pulls his wand and with a twist, sends green paint flying _everywhere_.

And, then it’s war.

Hermione laughs as she pulls her wand and casts a non-verbal _Coloro_ , sending yellow paint at the closest third year. She looks around and sees that it’s a mess of students, swiftly catching on as the paint war begins. She sees Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan jumping back off of the Hogwarts Express, Neville behind them, laughter on their faces as they get caught with a wave of blue.

There’s Romilda Vane and Colin Creevy and they’re friends covered in indigo.

Hermione turns just in time to meet a face full of periwinkle.

She squawks, opening her eyes and laughs when Pansy’s standing there, her wand outstretched.

“Worth just the one,” Pansy says with a tiny smile.

Hermione laughs and gets her back, splattering her with red. She tugs her in and the paint on their cheeks smear together to become rose. Hermione leaves a smacking kiss on Pansy’s cheek and she doesn’t even mind the wave of wet paint that hits her back, getting into her hair. She rests her hand against Pansy’s chest and looks at the crowd.

Luna is spinning in the center, her wand pointing at the sky, silver paint spiraling outward. Ron and Ginny are ducking on either side of her, clearly gunning for her, and it looks like Lavender is about to get to Ginny, and then, Blaise jumps out from nowhere, hitting her with a rather unflattering brown paint. Then, there’s Tom and Harry.

Tom’s paint is green, just as Harry’s is red, and for a moment, Hermione can’t help but think that both shades resemble the other’s eyes far more than their House colors. Tom and Harry are using more complex magic, dueling with their paint and Harry suddenly reaches out, reeling Tom in, whispering something to him that makes him soften.

Suddenly, Hermione can’t imagine being _anywhere_ else. It’s a feeling too immense to name, too wide, and so simple too.

“Alt er love,” Pansy whispers in her ear as they spin, lost in the middle of the paint.

Hermione pauses, looking up at her with wide eyes. She can hear Pansy’s heartbeat under her ear and it matches the sound of her own. “Huh?”

“It’s...Norwegian. I learned it on my travels, searching for a cure to my malediction,” Pansy explains. “It means… _‘everything is love’._ ”

Hermione presses her hands to Pansy’s cheeks, smearing blue across her cheeks, smiling.

“Everything is love,” she repeats.

_Alt er love._

* * *

_We all, we all, we alright_  
_The kids are alright_  
_We all, we alright!_  
_Yeah the kids are alright_  
_We all, we all, we alright_  
_The kids are alright_  
_We all, we alright!_  
_Yeah the kids are-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello. Well, we've reached the end.
> 
> I began HEX at the beginning of my senior year of college. It was going to be my last big project before I went off into the adult world. I'd had a lot of high hopes for my senior year and what I wanted out of it. I wanted to be employed. I wanted to be agented. I wanted to have an amazing last year of college. One out of three truly isn't so bad!
> 
> So, the world took a bit of a turn. We were hit with COVID-19. The murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. Unemployment in the United States hit record heights. And, in our safe place, this magical world of Hogwarts, J.K. Rowling pushed back against the personhood of trans people, people that found a HOME in the world that she created, a world that said being different made you SPECIAL, not wrong. Needless to say, my senior year was not great. As a Black woman, I felt like my very existence was under threat. There is a war on the Black body and every day, it kills me.
> 
> But, there's a lot of hope too. People, of all colors, took the streets and protested for the rights of Black people. Slowly, the world turns again, despite the fact that there are people in power that would do anything to stop that. And every day, writing this story, for all of you, gave me a lot of hope.
> 
> I wanted to write HEX for all of the people I used to be: the young teenage girl desperate to be cool, the anxious, depressed young woman full of rage, the Black religious queer woman unsure of her place or how those things can interact. I wanted to write HEX for the person that I am, a woman that is all of those things and more. I wanted to share it with all of you. This story was a love letter to myself, and to all of you. To let you know that I see you, and I hope you see me too.
> 
> I think I'll be stepping back from fandom for a while. I won't be leaving entirely, but there are things that I need to do in the real world. I need to fight for my existence. I need to spread my own world and my own magic. But, I'll be back. I promise.
> 
> And I truly do think that one day, we'll be alright
> 
> Remember, no matter what: ALT ER LOVE.

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to make clear that a fair amount of the story, up until now, has been inspired by SKAM, of the incomparable Julie Andem!!
> 
> Certain story beats are definitely of her mind and I HIGHLY recommend that you go watch her incredible show!!!
> 
> HOWEVER, due to the major content change in this last story, a large portion of this work will be of my own making!


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